


Beyond Control

by FreyaFallen



Category: Wheel of Time - Robert Jordan
Genre: Abuse, Control, Controlling Behavior, Dubious Consent, F/M, Forced Bonding, M/M, Mentions of genocide, Multi, Secrets, Sexual Assault, Slavery, Talk of Pregnancy, Threats, Threesomes, awkward sexual relationships, casual rape talk, creepy moridin, explicit descriptions of clothes, misuse of the bond, threats of rape
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-31
Updated: 2021-01-19
Packaged: 2021-03-03 07:48:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 8
Words: 24,406
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24467464
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FreyaFallen/pseuds/FreyaFallen
Summary: Mazrim Taim stumbles upon something he wants and makes a bargain to get it.
Relationships: Ishamael | Moridin/Mazrim Taim, Mazrim Taim/ OFC, Mazrim Taim/Ishamael | Moridin/OFC, OFC/Ishamael | Moridin
Comments: 13
Kudos: 21





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I've always wanted to know more about Taim (and Demandred, alas, we've lost that story), so I came up with a story that should fall in line with the books. not trying to AU this completely. Oh, and it made me sad that an entire CULTURE was wiped out. Two birds, one stone.
> 
> I have chosen to italicize some of the words RJ did and not others because doing a ton gets tedious... especially when I lose formatting switching between stuff.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A meeting with Suroth.

Elea did not like when she was chosen to accompany the High Lady Suroth, leader of the _Hailene_ , chosen by the Empress herself, may she live forever, but it was not her choice to make. The tall, curvaceous _sul’dam_ who had walked between the rooms had given her the sweetest smile when she’d peeked in and seen Elea sitting obediently at her desk with the _a’dam_ on its hook.

Varana would always choose her if she was available. Elea privately thought it might be because of the dichotomy they made; Varana with her glossy black hair and liquid dark eyes, Elea’s hair pale as sunbeams and eyes blue as the shallows around the island where the girl was born. She was also small, hardly grown from the time she was taken to now. Varana was nearly two spans tall, at least in the boots of a _sul’dam_ , and Elea perhaps stood at her shoulder.

They said _damane_ aged more slowly as they grew into their full power, one of the true marks of a witch. Elea wondered if that was to blame for her short stature. She would never be tall, but surely she should grow a little.

It had been around three years by her reckoning. Three years on a leash, three years learning how to become a weapon, a tool, an object, a pet. 

Elea had been fourteen when the Seanchan arrived at the docks of Samarin. It had been surreal, those long, bulky ships with their foreign ribbed sails wavering in the wind. And though some of the people who disembarked were dark of skin like the Atha’an Miere, there were also paler folk, folk who were certainly not of the Water People, as none had taken to the sea since the Breaking. Curiouser were the behemoth men who stood like creatures of legend, and scaled cats larger than the sheep, and the lacquered armor turning the strangers into fantastic, shining beings.

And so the Water People had stood and watched figures of dreams coming to life. 

“Do you think it's the time of Waking?” Julus had asked, gazing up at her with his seaglass green eyes.

“No,” she chuckled. “The Lady is not shining her light. I think these strangers may be just that: strange. That is well and good, though. Do you know why?”

Her little brother stared up at her solemnly. “All dreams must end.”

She stroked her fingers through his sunset golden curls. “Precisely so.”

These people, these Seanchan, with their twangy tongues and their sharp discipline were not kind strangers. They mocked the Water People for their Way, though it seemed to suit their purposes well enough.

“We are the _Hailene_ , the Forerunners to the Return of the descendants of Artur Hawkwing. His dominion should have spread over all lands, to include this one, and you shall now swear oaths to his rightful heir, the Empress, may she live forever.”

They did not understand these oaths, and only knew of the Mainlander king from old histories. Still, the oaths would not contradict the Water Way. To keep the peace, they swore.

It was the next show of domination that led to Elea’s transformation to _damane_. The Seanchan ordered all girls and women over the age of thirteen into the center of Samarin, the heart of Tremalking. It took half a day for all the women to come, but finally they did, from Old Mother Karna from the Southern Fluke, to the tiny Maris who had turned thirteen just that day. 

Maris’ mother held her tightly to her breast, betraying her fear of this inevitable event within the Dream. The Water Way could be trying, as Fin Ells always told the children before they left the little schoolhouse on Tail Ridge. One must remember it is better to ride the waves than fight against them. 

Children learned young to beware the rip tide and currents; even the calmest waters could sweep you away. At least once a decade, some poor fool drowned trying to fight their way back to land.

So Elea stood there, the only girl in her family since Ma had passed of a strange fever when she was young. 

While there was an escort of insectoid-helmed soldiers standing watch over the women, the ones in charge seemed to be women themselves, women who walked in pairs or alone. There were two pairs and several single women; in each pair there was one woman in a grey dress, her head demurely lowered as she passed, though she fixed her gaze on each of the Water People she passed, a quick look. The others of the pairs and all of the single women wore blue dresses with panels of red and lightning forking on their skirts. 

Elea did not mean to stare, but as one pair neared she realized the women had chains between them. They were silvery and delicate, connecting to the perfect silver ring around the grey-clad women’s throats and tight bracelets on the other. The two blue and red clad women prowling solitary had leashes of their own in hand, though the neck portion was empty in their fingers.

The woman in grey nearest her drew in a sharp breath. As if the world were plunged beneath the waves, she lifted her caramine eyes and locked gazes with Elea. The stranger licked her parted lips and murmured too softly for her ears to grab hold, but she did not look away as she exchanged words with the woman on the other end of the leash.

Elea had torn her own eyes away and straight ahead once more, hoping even under the words of the Water Way that this wave was not about to crash into her.

“This one.”

Her eyes fluttered shut and she trembled. And then something had snapped around her throat and her world washed away.

When Elea had next opened her eyes, she was _damane_.

The leash holders generally adored her as she was considered nearly as obedient as the Seanchan-raised _damane_. And they had not brought such young channelers with the Hailene, as they wanted strength to fight the Aes Sedai and any other challengers they came across. Thus, Elea was something of a novelty. First for her age and later for her abilities.

She had strength in the power, especially in Spirit, the Power behind many weaves that impacted people’s minds and bodies. More, it was used in shielding other channelers. Elea could cut through nearly any channeler’s weaves and wrap them in Spirit so they were parted from the Source.

The High lady Suroth sometimes met with channelers, though no one (especially not a lowly _damane_ ) would gainsay her. The _sul’dam_ would bring Elea to these meetings lest the other party betray the terms of their parlay.

Elea stood as Varana snapped the bracelet on her wrist, the _sul’dam_ breathing deeply in satisfaction as she experienced the completeness that came with _a’dam_ . Long fingers stroked through her hair. “Such a sweet little _damane_ , aren’t you? Are you ready for the honor of accompanying the High Lady, pet?”

She swallowed and allowed the words to wash over her and through her so that she lay upon the water of the moment in peace. “This one will try to be worthy, _sul’dam_.”

“Excellent,” the woman purred. She had pulled Elea nearly to her chest and tipped her chin to look into her eyes. “Look at you. You brushed your hair with one hundred strokes, didn’t you?”

“Yes, _sul’dam_ ,” she murmured. Varana was one of the worst for treating her as a hybrid between small child and pet. She would sit and brush her hair, braid it, style it, bedeck her in ribbons. It was absurd, but these were the ways _sul’dam_ showed their favor.

“You need to be especially wary, pet. I heard whisper of one of those Asha’man.” The word was sneered from Varana, who was usually sickly-sweet when linked to Elea. When the girl gave her agreement, the _sul’dam_ ’s relief flowed through the leash, a balm from the barbed heat at the thought of male channelers.

It was a long walk away from their encampment, the High Lady in her palanquin and her entourage afoot. They crossed a river with the assistance of a barge at the ready, though the attendants never once looked to see which High personage they were serving. 

When they passed a stone outcropping, High Lady Suroth’s Voice called them to a halt. Varana rose to her full height beside the Lady’s palanquin; vigilance vibrated along the link. Elea dared not look up too obviously, but her curiosity won out so that her eyes darted to absorb whatever details they found.

“Only one of your little leashed pets, Suroth?” 

Though Varana had told her to expect a man, she nearly jumped out of her skin at the sound of his voice; it drummed through to her heart, deep and confident.

“You will not address the High Lady--”

“Enough. I will speak to this _Asha’man_ with my own voice.”

Elea had never heard the High Lady’s own voice, but it was like the rumble of a cat. _Or perhaps a Torm._ A _sul’dam_ had once forced her to pet one of the great, bronze-scaled cat-creatures, amused at her terror. When the _Torm_ flashed fang, Elea had lost her breath.

She did not know what the High Lady and this Asha’man were speaking of, but it was not light business. Perhaps not _of_ the Light. She swallowed that thought to the pit of her stomach; it was dangerous, even the hint of it could mean death even for a precious asset such as a _damane_.

“You must be ready to shield him at even a twitch, pet,” Varana slurred in her ear. “You may watch him; this man holds no honor, nor power over you.”

She raised her chin just enough that her eyes could land on the man addressing the High Lady. He was a tall man, two spans and a hand, perhaps more. His nose was pronounced, black hair pushed back from an angular face, and eyes that burned when they turned toward her. A dark brow rose, his gaze skimmed over her, lips quirking a touch before he scoffed in that deep, harsh voice, “You think this little girl could hold her own against me?”

“I think,” purred the High Lady Suroth, “you would be surprised at what this little _damane_ can do.”

All the while his eyes were torching Elea, gleaming with amusement. He laughed, head tipping back so he had to push the locks away when the sound tapered to an end. “Let’s see it, then.” His hands spread in welcome, the metallic gold and blue dragons embroidered on his sleeves catching the light.

The Source opened to her, filling her with the siren song of surrender. It had always come easily to her, the pull of a wave lifting her from the ground and sweeping her out to sea. Elea wove deftly as the man watched her with an eagle’s stare. And then the shield slammed into him and he staggered.

His lips parted and brows furrowed, head tipping. Then his jaw firmed and he rolled his shoulders back to their full, powerful breadth. She felt something _push_ at her shield, an unseen force that must be _saidin._

It was a raging, silent, unseen maelstrom barraging her weave and Elea braced herself against the onslaught.

“He is strong,” breathed Varana, a hand weighing on Elea’s shoulder in solidarity. “She is holding him, but he is strong.”

“ _Sul’dam_ ,” she whimpered. “This one may not be able to hold him long.” 

“Stay strong, pet. You are doing so well.”

The man ran a tongue against his teeth, visible only by the soft movement of his lips. His eyes were narrowed now, focused on her, only her.

She could ride this wave, she could. This man was strong, but her Spirit was stronger.

“Hold,” the _sul’dam_ encouraged. “ _Hold.”_

It wasn’t like holding a woman; it was so much more. Elea closed her eyes and tried to imagine the glow around him, as she saw with a woman wielding _saidar_. Her weaves had severed that connection, and now the dam was built, the flow stemmed. If only she could keep it there.

When it burst through, as she knew was inevitable, Elea crumpled to the drained brown grass, her hands flying out to catch the earth. It had been like a great nothingness slamming into her, forcing her away and rending her shield apart. She panted on the ground, wiping sweat from her eyes.

“Impressive,” was the first sound to break the long silence of their battle. He had stepped closer and Varana pushed a touch in front of the fallen _damane_. He peered down at her, a churning storm behind his eyes. When the eye centered and peace fell, she trembled. He directed his next words to the high Lady Suroth. “How much?”

“What?” Suroth’s voice was thick with incredulity. 

“How much to take the _damane_ off your hands?” He said those words as though they were casual, simple, not bargaining for a fellow channeler, nor demanding the impossible from the Seanchan.

“She is property of the Empress, may she live forever.”

“Everything has a price.” The expression on his face hearkened back to the _Torm_ , a predator hardly tamed, waiting for a misstep. “Surely there is something you would exchange for one little _damane._ ”

Silence, then, “I hear there are Aes Sedai at you Black Tower.”

“Yes.”

The High Lady hissed. “I want the Aes Sedai.”

The man ground his jaw. “One.”

“Two,” the high Lady countered.

His nostrils flared. “Consider it done.”

Varana was stroking Elea’s hair, the hand with the bracelet behind her back. “How could _you_ manage a _damane_?”

He was within an arm’s reach of her now. “Stand.” 

Elea obeyed the order before she could think. One large hand cupped her jaw, thumb running fondly over the curve of it. He was smirking as his eyes drifted to her lips and she could not turn away, could not summon the Water Way inside herself as his mouth crashed into hers and the wave took her down, deep, deep, deep into the inky blackness of the abyss.

When he pulled away, he said, “You will not channel without my permission.” His hand was still on her, but softer now. Still, Elea could not move. Something _bloomed_ inside her, unfurled and burrowed itself into her mind. 

The familiar weight around her throat lifted and one hand rose to desperately feel for the collar she’d worn these long years. And when it found nothing, she reached out for the Source and--

There was only _him._

Elea fell into the dark.

She woke gently to herself, in a room far darker than the usual morning wakeup. She was practically floating, the bed beneath her still waters of the softest, warmest sort. Elea could imagine herself drifting along with only the sloshing of little peaks around her.

But no, that was not water. It crackled and fizzled and hissed drily. 

Her eyes batted open to see a fire. It was built from large stones, far heavier than she knew stones could be. On the island, they built homes of thatch and wood. 

She sat up, cradling her head against her fingertips. This was not the encampment; nor was it their barracks in Tarabon, nor any place she could recall in between. 

Elea was aching as though she'd crashed into the rocky shore of Backbone Bay. She rubbed at pulsing eyes and peered around the room in full. 

The bed she lay upon was piled high with pillows around her, and it was enormous, stretching at least two spans to her left and two and a half along the length. It was as soft as a dream; no wonder she had mistaken it for sea water, which could cradle her form lovingly on calm days. And it had heavy ebon wood posts rising toward the ceiling.

The other furniture matched it, all severe black angle. There was a simple black and cornflower rug on the stone floor in a Borderland style, a wardrobe, a desk with a single austere chair, a case with more books than Elea had ever seen in one place, a side table laden with a wash basin of familiar make, and the only ornate piece a high-backed chair in the corner by the fireplace.

It was covered in deep golden material and had black scrolling flowers along its patterning. It was lovely, and probably older than she was, as such pieces were typically attended to lovingly. There was a smaller side table to its left, a book with folded paper slipped inside.

She stood on shaking feet, the bed heightened to her waist beside her helping the girl hold her weight and gather her bearings, then padded to the book, opening to the marked page.

It was a copy of the Prophecies of the Dragon, the Karaethon Cycle, passages underlined, the margins full of notes. Elea pondered the neat penmanship, but it did not reveal its secrets beyond mere words, then she unfolded the paper.

Thick parchment with a scene rendered in loving detail. She knew this image, had seen it with her own eyes in Tarabon, miles from where the battle itself took place. There in the sky, the Dragon Reborn, a young red haired man, had fought the Dark One Himself. Whoever had drawn this had an eye for detail, as she could make out the steely expression across the Dragon’s features.

“Ah, you are awake.” The voice jolted Elea from her inspection and she groaned as pain lanced through her. She held her head in her hands as black boots entered her vision. There was no doubt to her who this must be, the visage of his face before the darkness crashing over her in a wave of remembrance. Cool fingers touched her hand. “I could ease that for you; I have no great Talent for Healing, but it is little enough.”

Her eyes widened as the words clicked into meaning. _Saidin_ . He was offering to use _saidin_ on her. Elea started to shake her head to the side, but his grip firmed on her.

“I understand your fear, but I assure you it is quite safe.”

“Does it--” her voice caught in her throat, rasping harshly. “Does it hurt?”

The firelight danced across his eyes. “On the contrary, it may be pleasant.” The line of his mouth straightened. “Hold still.”

A thrilling burn jolted from his fingertips and through her veins as the man Delved into her to Heal the aches of what she had endured before. Awash in the cleansing heat, she gasped, panting softly even as the fire retreated. It had hurt, but much in the way of pulling dead skin from a burn and revealing the raw and new flesh beneath. 

When she came back to herself, Elea was holding his wrist desperately to keep herself standing. Her weight did not phase him. 

“It is perhaps less gentle than the Healing of _saidar_ ,” he commented. “But it works. How do you feel now?”

He must know, in the same way she knew he was amused at her reaction. But Elea had had obedience seared into her bones. “Better.”

His eyes darted between her own. “Good. Do you know where you are?” Her head turned a touch within his grip, just enough to voice her answer. “You are at the Black Tower.” A crease formed between her brows. “It is the base of the Asha’man. And you are in the quarters of their leader.”

Her eyes widened. “You…?”

“I am Mazrim Taim, the M’Hael of the Asha’man.”

She was underwater again, unable to breathe with the revelation. His hand drifted to her bare throat, thumb stroking her trachea and fingers tickling along her nape. As terrifying as the strange sensation was, it was also grounding, allowing her head to break the surface and air to rush into her lungs.

“I did not get your name,” he hummed, head tipped in interest.

The order was implied, but she heard it all the same. “This one is called Elea.”

Mazrim Taim clicked his tongue, tone edged with admonishment. “I did not ask what you are called. I wish to know _who you are_ . You are no longer _damane_. What were you before? What is your name and where are you from. I want to know what the price of two full Aes Sedai has bought me.”

“This one,” she stuttered, but his voice cut through anything she might have added.

“Not ‘ _this one_ ’ _,_ girl. ‘I.’ You are not a _damane_ , nor are you a slave.”

Her lower lip trembled, but she nodded in his grasp. “I am Eleanoren of the People of the Water Way, from the island of Tremalking.”

That stirred interest in the knot at the back of her mind she was beginning to accept might belong to this man. “Tremalking? Where Sea Folk China is made?” He huffed a slight laugh. “What is the Water Way, Eleanoren?”

His thumb stroked from the curve of her chin to the notch at the base of her throat, so he no doubt felt the frequent swallowing through her tight muscles. 

“It is the Way of the foam upon the waves, the fish in the current, the water trapped in rip tide itself.” The words were all there still, buried in memories of heads upon laps and soothing old voices. “One rides the wave or tumbles beneath them, follows the current or sinks, accepts the tide or drowns.”

“A way of passivity?” He was condescending to her, but also curious.

“It is actively accepting of the truth surrounding,” she countered, “and working within it, instead of against it.”

“Hmm. And what is the truth surrounding you now?”

That knot had stilled within her mind, lying in wait. “I had thought you might tell me, M’Hael of the Asha’man.”

That pleased him, the pleasure a silver thread coiling through her mind in reward. He led her to sit back on the bed, seating himself in the throne-like chair just a span and a half away. He considered her with a raptor’s ease, fingers tented thoughtfully. “You have heard of Warders, the Gaidin bonded to Aes Sedai?” She nodded. “Asha’man can also bond others to them. While most men have bonded their wives, we have found we are able to control female channelers via the same means.”

The incredulity rose in her chest, fluttering like a fisher bird in her throat so the words were hard to release. “I am a…?”

“Let us call you my Ward,” he answered gently. “The title Warder does not suit our particular relation.” His gaze roved her slight form, legs dangling over the edge of the great bed, huddled in her wrinkled grey dress, all too small and pale amid the severe grandeur of his dim room. “Certainly not.”

Elea folded her hands in her lap, eyes falling to his feet. “How is this-- how am I to address you?” It would take some time to break the third person speech, as that was the first way the Seanchan who captured her started to break their new _damane_ on this side of the Aryth Ocean. 

“Look at me.” Her head jolted up at the command and his too generous mouth was softened at her reaction. “You will look at me when I speak with you unless ordered otherwise. Do you understand?” She bobbed her head, eyes squid-wide. “Good. Now, as for your question.” Taim leaned back, mein imperious as he considered. “I am your lord and master. You should address me as such. Master alone, or Lord Taim. M’Hael is also acceptable, particularly when I am among my men.”

She was not a slave, he had said. “Lord Taim, Master, or M’Hael,” she repeated.

“Very good, little finch.” With the words came a wash of content through their bond. “We will need to amend your wardrobe situation.” Taim stood and gestured for her to follow. “Come.”

Through the door was a sitting room flush with manuscripts and maps, a table, chairs, and a tapestry with all the intricacy of which the other room was bereft. It featured two men, one with a dark halo and the other with one of light. The earth cracked below the feet of the dark-haloed man. 

“That is Guaire Amalasan and Artur Hawkwing. Guaire was quite the successful False Dragon until Hawkwing struck him down.” He held a cloak and swept it across her shoulders. “I will not have my Ward looking so bedraggled.” His fingers stroked the clasp, the same blue dragon as on his shirtsleeves shining in enamel and gold. Taim pulled her pale hair over the black cloth and tipped her chin up. “You belong to the M’Hael, as strong in the Power as any of al’Thor’s women. We will ensure people know your status.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First time writing WoT fanfiction. To be fair, i'm new-ish to fanfiction in general. So enjoy.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gratuitous talk about clothing.

Clothing, as it happened, was a great mark of rank among the Mainlanders. Whereas skirts and blouses or blouses and trousers, all made with cotton from the sheep herded on the island and dyed with the scant pigments available (saffron yellow, Hibiscus red, tea stained, inky deeps, berry blues, nettle green, walnut black), were what the Water People wore. The rare dress might be made for a wedding, but often those were inherited from a grandmother or aunt. 

No one questioned where the M’Hael had picked up a shadow; he had ordered that she stay within his arm’s reach, so she was just behind him. Their destination was not far, so she only caught a glimpse of the sprawling village. He took her to a cleared space guarded by a stone-faced man in clothes similar to Taim, though he had no embroidery around his sleeves. Instead there was a sword pin on one side of his collar. “M’Hael,” he greeted. 

Taim nodded. “I will be weaving the Gateway myself, Manfor.”

“Aye, M’Hael.”

He stopped just beyond the other man and Elea took a surreptitious glance around. Perhaps they had something akin to the raken? But no, he had said something about weaving.

A vertical line of light appeared before them and twisted through the air, shaping into a tall rectangle wide enough for three to walk abreast. Elea gaped, fish-mouthed in awe as she looked through to a white-dusted city. Taim laid a hand on her back, chuckling. “This is a Gateway, the manifestation of Travelling. It is a Talent of the Age of Legends recently returned to us. I am certain you have the strength for it. I will have a sister teach it to you some time. Come along, finch.”

It was a cold beyond her experience and Elea smacked a hand over her mouth as her breath misted the air like an escaping spirit.

“That is the water from your breath,” Taim informed her. “Have you never been this far North?” He pulled the cloak tight around her. “Ah, but I forget. Your island is far South and the Seanchan have stayed fairly close to their original landing place. How is your skin so fair, hm?”

It hadn’t always been. Before her taking, Elea’s hands and face had been sun-flushed to a strong tan that, while by no means matched the beauty of the Sea Folk’s browns and blacks (not even the lightest among those Folk), told of a life in the light. But the Seanchan, upon seeing the pale smoothness beneath her working clothes, had kept her shielded from the sun to protect her “porcelain flesh, so fitting for you, pet.”

Her cheeks flushed and Taim shook his head, smile rueful as he brushed back his black hair. “It’s lovely all the same. We shall endeavor to keep it as such.”

In the city he kept Elea tightly to her side. His touches, while reminiscent of the possessive affection of the _sul’dam_ , were as foreign as the place in which she found herself. She had not felt the touch of anyone but women ( _sul’dam_ and servants only) since she had parted from Julus the day she had been found to have the spark. There were _damane_ who invited the advances of men insomuch as they could, with lamb-lashed eyes and stealthy flashes of ankle. Whether any man had looked askance at her, she did not know. Nor had she cared. 

“Here.” He led her into a shop with needle and spool of thread on its sign. It was early, clothing being more important than food to Taim, and they were the only patrons. Two women glanced up at their entrance, an older and a younger, both with dark eyes and sharp noses that gave them a similarly predatory gaze as the man beside her.

The older woman had heavy grey streaking her dark bun. She stood and sashayed toward them in a high necked gown of emerald with intricate embroidery in gold and black and silver down the sleeves. The material had a sheen like moonlight on the water and Elea knew it would be soft and smooth to the touch. 

“Good morning, M’Hael,” said by way of greeting in the same lilting, rolling accent of Taim, her eyes just touching on the girl at her doorway. “How may we assist you?”

“Mistress Melaile, you are radiant as ever.” The shopkeeper did a fine impression of a blush and demurred. “I have need of appropriate clothing for my Ward.” He gestured her forward, tugging back the cloak to reveal the drab grey dress.

“Oh!” Mistress Melaile laid a hand to her breast. “That will not do at all. How is the rest of her wardrobe?”

“She has none.”

The woman’s eyes nearly popped from her skull. “Nell, begin measuring the poor child. M’Hael, if you will sit here in the waiting area and I will bring our sample books for you to peruse.”

The shop girl’s hair was so dark she would call it black if not for the comparison of Taim nearby. Her titled eyes were kind as she set aside the cloak. “If you’ll follow me. The process is rather delicate.”

Taim’s eyes burned into her as she walked behind a curtain to the back of the shop. “You need to disrobe to your small clothes, if you please,” Nell intoned neatly. “I shall endeavor to be quick, so you might speak your own preferences before the M’Hael and Mistress Melaile have it all decided.”

The cloak was placed aside first, then the drafted grey dress. 

“No undergown?” The other girl tutted. “You poor thing, must be terribly cold. You southerners never take the cold well.”

She had a knotted cord in hand and began wrapping it around various parts of Elea’s body, directing her to raise her arms, keep them apart from her body, so on and so on. The measurements went on a little pad and the young woman prattled throughout. When she finished, she insisted on taking the measurements again.

“Pardon, but what is the white dust on the ground?” They were nearing the end of the process as Elea remembered from the first round, and she was just barely comfortable enough to work up the nerve to ask.

“What?” Nell blinked her beautiful abyss dark eyes. “Oh, you mean snow!” She laughed. “Snow. It’s frozen rain. Well, that would more be sleet or hail, but it is frozen water all the same.”

“There is more than one sort? Of frozen water from the sky,” she clarified.

“Dozens,” remarked Nell offhandedly as she took the last of the measurements. “Dress and I will meet you beyond yon curtain again.”

The cloak went back over her shoulders once she was clothed, wrapping it tight from the cool air in the shop. Not quite so cold as outside, but too much for her thin blood.

“Here, little bird.”Taim gestured for her to sit beside him, pulling back his thick cloak to smooth a hand over her forearm. “We are negotiating the finer details of your new attire.”

The woman’s eyes were shrewd as they studied her face, her hair, the connection between the pair seated on the little couch. “Her coloring is far too fair for so much black, M’Hael. Look at the little thing. She’d drown in all that darkness.”

One of his black brows rose. “Is there a problem with black?”

She took in his own attire. “Of course not, but other colors might flatter the girl. Blue, perhaps? Pink might bring out some of the color in her cheeks, green is always lively. Grey--”

Her heart froze. “No grey,” he commanded. “She has worn enough of that.”

Mistress Melaile glanced between the two once more, eyes flicking down the length of her dress. “There have been rumors from the ports about events to the south. Leashed Aes Sedai dressed in grey. There will be no grey among your wardrobe, Lady Eleanoren.”

Had her mother lived past her twenties perhaps she would look something like the seamstress, face painted with genuine sympathy.

“Thank you,” she murmured softly.

“Would she not look a vision in sky blue, Nell?” The woman was all business again. 

“Yes, Mistress Melaile,” agreed the girl. “She is such a slight little thing, and all her skin is so creamy pale. Rose would also complement her well. Mint, perhaps?”

Taim’s dark eyes rolled heavenward. “You mean to dress my Ward all in pastels? She will look obscene beside me.”

“Not at all,” Melaile retorted. “Though perhaps it may be a little bright for your preference.” She laid a finger against her lips and nodded. “I may have a compromise. White.”

“White?” 

“White. As the primary color in her wardrobe. Black as well. And if you would allow me the pleasure of clothing her in a few brighter shades, perhaps for special occasions, I would be personally grateful, M’Hael.”

He peered at Elea, turning her hand palm up to thumb her pulse point. “That is amenable.”

“Now we’ve discussed the daily gowns versus the more formal. Is there anything else? Travelling gowns with divided skirts? They are fashionable among nobility even when not riding.”

His head tipped in that bird-like way of his. “I will leave that to your discretion, Mistress Melaile.”

“And you, dear?” The woman turned her black eyes to Elea. “Anything particular?”

This was a cold wave, an unexpected shock to the system. She worked to still her expression and looked hopefully between her keeper and the seamstress. “Working clothes?”

“You will have daily wear for your needs, gowns more easily maneuvered in,” the woman intoned.

“No,” she murmured. “I mean blouses and breeches. I always preferred those to the skirts, though I understand some find them unseemly…” Elea trailed off at the affronted silence. 

“Like an Aiel?” She did not think Mistress Melaile’s brows could rise any higher than she’d seen them before, but they had climbed halfway to her hairline. “I took you for an Andoran, perhaps with some Cairhienen blood, little thing you are.” 

Taim’s hand encircled her wrist, middle finger tucked beneath his thumb so large was it. “She will not be needing such. The gowns, cloaks, anything else you think necessary for a young woman of her standing."

Melaile nodded, tension leaking from her face. "Of course, M'Hael. I may have a few suitable gowns I can alter to work for her in the time being. After that I can deliver two gowns a week, perhaps three on some weeks.”

“Show me.”

The first gown was severe black in the traditional Saldaean style, complete with divided skirts. Melaile waved the girl to stand and held it up to her. “Much too long, of course. Needs taking in especially at the bosom.” She lifted a brow expectantly.

Taim nodded. “Any others?”

“Ah, one.” She disappeared to the back. “It’s for a young lady, more of a girl. Yes.” She pressed it against Elea’s front and the girl looked down at the expanse of shining emerald. “Silk, fine stitching on the sleeves as you can see.” There were silver thorns along the lengths and little rose buds in scarlet.

“We will take them both. How long will you be adjusting them?”

Melaile hummed. “The green can be done in an hour or so, but the black will take more time. If you are amenable to Nell assisting with it, I can perhaps do it in three, no more than four. She is a deft hand.”

Taim rubbed his jaw consideringly. It was unnerving how easily Elea could understand his actions with the steady tide of his emotions ebbing and flowing in her mind. They were not overwhelming, but they were quite present. Was it the same for him? He favored her with a quirk of his lips, then told the seamstress, “Very well. We will head to the cobbler in the meantime.”

The cobbler measured her feet and showed mock-ups aplenty to Taim. While Elea did not quite get the working boots she desired, sturdy boots with a touch of heel were among the list.

And then they were to the jeweler, a smithy who specialized in delicate work to adorn the body. He purchased scarves and baubles and little things here and there from vendors lining the market street, had a shopkeep fetch the necessities for a lady’s hygiene, ensured she had a fleece-lined cloak of her own, the hood lined with white ermine fur. She did not know what ermine was and, at touching the luxuriously soft material, did not ask. 

“Lord Taim,” she murmured desperately when they had stopped for dark, steaming tea. “I do not need so much. A few gowns to wear, that I can wash weekly. A pair of boots, perhaps slippers. A brush, soap.”

“What did I tell you, little goldfinch?” Her brow wrinkled in thought and he chided her, tipping her chin up. “You are a woman of status now, Eleanoren. And I will have you outfitted as such.”

Although his words could be called kind, affectionate even, the possessive waves lacing like ivy over her mind sent a lance of fear through her. 

“Is it such a terrible thing, to belong to someone who cares for you?”

She studied his pouting lips, more plush than she had initially thought, the sharp lines of his face, the force of his eyes on her own. Did Mainlanders usually belong to someone else? On the island they were waiting to serve the Creator, until He sent the sign that it was the time of Awakening and their service had ended. They had been chosen for that one task, and that alone.

Here they had kings, queens, liege lords. So it seemed most people _did_ belong to others, one way or another. Taim was something like a king, ruling over the Asha’man. Their Wards, or however the other women bonded to the maale channelers were called, must also fall under his jurisdiction. 

“No,” she whispered at last. 

“That’s my sweet girl,” he crooned, either not noticing or uncaring at the spike of humiliation. 

When they returned to the Black Tower that evening, where it was earlier in the day, much to her amazement, it was to Taim calling in his serving man. “We need someone to look after Eleanoren properly, someone with experience preferred.” The older man was nodding along, hadn’t balked at the sight of this addition to the household. 

“And her quarters, M’Hael?”

Taim’s jaw firmed. “That _is_ somewhat problematic. The room beside mine should be converted to an adjoining bedchamber. I want it done quickly, but also _right_. And she will need furniture to fill it, wardrobe, side table. So on.”

The man took it in stride, but his next words brought a less satisfying answer. “And where should I quarter her in the meantime?”

“She will sleep in my chambers.” That possessive coil stretched again. “I will not have her sleep far from me. Is that understood? Ah, and I will need to make amendments to the Tower’s blueprints. They must also accommodate the change.” He stroked her cheek. “She is important to me, Castin. Consider her… the first lady of the Black Tower.”

The man acquiesced and left with a wave of Taim’s hand. _He_ seemed far more concerned with Elea. “This is the first moment I've had to truly appreciate you, little flower. Come and sit beside me.”

She sank into one of the cushioned chairs in his sitting room, the one beside him lest he deem Elea not close enough. She could feel his _interest_ through the bond, made a physical sensation where his eyes roved her still wrapped in her new cloak. 

“I would learn more about you,” he drawled at last. “Will you tell me?”

Elea swallowed against the rising tide of her dread. “Yes, Master.”

A purr of pleasure rubbed at her from their bond from either the title or her agreement. It would have been havoc had Elea not lived as a _damane_ , regularly linked to a _sul’dam_ on and off for years. She had learned to stem the tide of her own emotions and allow others’ to wash over her without being maddening. Still, this was more intimate even than sharing the One Power with another. 

“You look so young, Eleanoren. How old are you really?” He had a pitcher of wine brought in by his servant still on the table and poured himself a goblet.

“I am seventeen, Master.”

The only betrayal of surprise was a slow blink. “I had thought perhaps you were slowing. Though I suppose you look…” he trailed his gaze over her again. “Well, young. Drink, sweet girl.”

Had he phrased the words differently, she could have abstained. Instead the command had her pouring her own goblet, sipping in hopes she would not have to down it all. When she was able to bring the rim away from her mouth, she was relieved.

“And how long were you _damane_?” One finger was tapping against the silvery cup.

“Three years.” There was less satisfaction there, more acceptance. 

When he leaned forward, intrigue lighting through the bond, her heart skipped a breast in anticipation. “Are you untouched?”

Her lips parted, but no sound released. Whatever Elea had expected, this was not it. More about her channeling, her time with the Seanchan, her people. Not about, well. Her cheeks flamed, eyes dropping to the floor as she jerked her head to indicate denial.”

“Speak, and look at me,” he reminded.

The words did not come easily as she met his gaze once more. “I am.”

He was enjoying this somehow. Her discomfort, her innocence, something about it. “You are _what_?”

Deep breath in, deep breath out, imagining the tide spilling onto smooth sand. “I am untouched, Master.”

Elea had to close her eyes at the combined force of their emotions, her stomach flipping with something like fear and something decidedly _not_. 

“Very good. You’re doing so well, dove.” He nodded to her drink. “Have more. I would like you to relax.” Elea nodded and sipped and for a while they sat in companionable silence, or something like it. 

“I despise rapists,” Taim spoke into the quiet, not even facing her. “It is an egregious crime, forcing oneself on a woman. You need not fear that from me.” At the last, his eyes darted back to her. Tension between her shoulders seeped out and Elea felt as though she could breathe a little more freely. She had not voiced that fear even in her own mind, but it had been lurking in the depths. The man pondered her and smiled. “I have never needed to, in any case. Women come to me willingly. I’ve been told I can be quite charming.”

She stilled, a minnow facing a monster; he was flirting with her. He _did_ want her in that way. Elea chewed on the inside of her lip and studied the man. He was handsome in a severe and frightening way. He could not be old, in the grand picture, though older than she was. 

He chuckled as though he knew the direction of her thoughts. “Do you have a question?”

“How old are _you_ , Master?”

“I have not started slowing myself yet, if that eases your worries. Twenty eight. And one of the most powerful channelers alive. Including the Forsaken."

A chill lapped down her spine at the casual mention of the thirteen most powerful channelers who had turned to the shadow. 

He looked at her thoughtfully then, wariness tingling between them. "What did you hear when Suroth and I spoke?"

"I did not listen." Elea struggled to maintain use of the first person at the thought of the High Lady.

"Mm, but you're clever, aren't you? You will tell no one of your suspicions. Do you understand."

Her heart hammered against her ribs and she tried to push away thoughts related to this one. "Yes, Master." 

"Shh." Taim pulled his chair nearer hers and wrapped an arm around her to pull her to his shoulder. "Be obedient. Be _good_ , and I will never take _that_ choice away from you."

Could he? she wondered. Could he turn her to the dark if she found a way around his compulsion? 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter is when things actually get interesting. Maybe.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Someone visits.

It was two days later when Taim first allowed her to channel. He would be checking patrols in the field.

"I’ve told Levania to draw you a bath," he informed Elea as he buttoned his coat that morning. She was indeed sharing his bedchamber, but he had done her the kindness of creating a little barrier between them. As his bed was massive, it was no great loss to the man. "You may use the One Power to heat your bath water, and _only_ for that." He cupped her cheek. "I should be back for supper."

Levania was a minor noble, not high enough ranking to feel slighted at serving a woman held in high esteem by the M'Hael, but knowledgeable of what Elea might need. Under her direction, a steel bath was brought into Taim's bedchamber. When the woman went to assist with her undress, Elea pulled away. 

"I would like to bathe alone," she insisted. 

"The M'Hael said I was to attend you properly, my lady." There had been some confusion on how to address her, but those who met Elea seemed to settle on calling her that. 

"I should not have need of your assistance until I call for the bath to be emptied. I will be done before the M'Hael returns."

They exchanged a long look and the the older woman finally nodded. "I will see to supper preparations."

"Thank you."

She undressed at her leisure, each item set aside as she wondered at the peace of solitude. This was the first true solitude she'd had since before being taken _daman_ e, her thoughts regimented lest she step outside the bounds of the collar in those years. It was a roaring peace that glided from the silent room around her to crest and gently lap at her heart. Once nude, she glanced at the little table beside the tub laden with her soap and such, then dipped a hand into the water. Cool, not cold. 

Elea took in a deep breath and with it embraced the source. The heady sweetness swept around her and she allowed herself to bask in it, adrift in _saidar_. A moment of floating and she channeled Fire and touched it the water, a hiss sizzling beside her. Her eyes batted open, hand returning to the water to test its warmth, then she stepped in and slowly sank into the bath.

Surrounded by water and alone. It was the most beautiful moment Elea had experienced since last kissing Julus' sweet head of hair. She could spend eternity here, knees bobbing in the water and _held_ by it. Comforted by the womblike environment. She slunk down and down and down until she was completely submerged and held herself there. 

Still holding _saidar_ , unable to channel though she was, Elea could feel the pop of little bubbles clinging to her body. Her heart was an ocean thrum in the gentle wavering, and her hair danced in slow tendrils. She felt she could stay there forever, even through the sweet burn of her lungs or the wracking spasms of her diaphragm. 

At last she knew it was time to release both herself and _saidar_ , and she emptied her lungs as she closed herself off again. With a sigh she leaned her back against the bath tub. 

"Impressive."

Elea's eyes burst open as she sought the source of the unfamiliar voice, knees simultaneously huddling to her chest. She thought to grab the source again, but in her terror only remembered that she could not channel except to warm her bath water, and she faltered. 

There was a man standing in Taim's bedchamber and staring at her with something like a smile on his face. He was tall, of a height with the M'Hael, his hair black, shoulders broad, and exuding the same sense of easy power. His nose was not as strong, though his jaw was. And his eyes were brilliant blue. 

"You're not an Asha'man," she blurted then pressed a hand over her mouth as the man laughed.

"I most assuredly am not," he agreed, eyes dancing as though it was a joke and not an accusation. "And you are not Taim."

Elea shook her head, slowly sinking further into the water. If she'd have washed already, the water would have obscured her more. Alas, she had only just begun her bath. 

"Where is Taim, then?"

She licked her lips, eyes darting around the room in futile search of someone or something to help. "He is meeting with some of the Asha'man." She would not be divulging that Taim was perhaps hundreds of leagues away. If the bond were not stretched by distance, he could have felt her terror and come to her. 

"Why so shy, little flower? You are hardly the first woman I've seen unclothed, and obviously I am not the first man to see you as such." His gaze roved what little of her was shown in approval. 

If her blush were any hotter, she was sure it would mist the remaining water around her. "You are," she confessed in a hush. 

Laughter spilled from his lips in a shock, pealing through the room. "Is that right? Taim has you bathing in his bedchamber and he has not bedded you?" At the adamant shake of her head he broke into fresh laughter. "Oh, that is precious. I did not think him so soft. Tell me, what are you to Taim that he would allow such a thing?"

She searched for anything to say that would reveal nothing and could not find a word, so Elea used the one Taim had said himself. "I am his Ward."

"His ward?" The man's dark hair fell around his face as he tipped his head curiously. "Odd choice of word. Ward. Not a familial connection. Not a well-kept prisoner. Implies guardianship, protection. What is the _nature_ of the relationship, then?"

"A bond."

He stared, blinked, stared longer. "Oh. Ward, a bond. That is clever. Bonding is one of the few interesting discoveries of these times. Are you one of the _Aes Sedai?_ Young for it, but that seems a new trend."

"No," she breathed. 

"Hm." He narrowed his eyes at her. "Taim is not so sentimental as to bind a woman without reason. You are not his wife, nor are you his lover. Thus, he must be seeking control of you. Not an Aes Sedai. You are a channeler. I felt you holding _saidar_. Yes, sweet, men can feel when women hold the One Power. Like gooseflesh pebbling the skin." 

Elea had no idea what to make of this strange man. His reactions, his questions, everything about him was off. Gooseflesh was an apt word for this wary moment.

"Aren't you going to finish your bath?"

She swallowed thickly. "Could you, ah, turn around?"

"Precious little thing. I'll play the gentleman for you." The high-backed chair slid to him, facing away, and he sank into it. "What is your name, child?"

He couldn't have been older than Taim, if that, yet the word rolled off his tongue as a matter of course. 

"Eleanoren," she pronounced, easing soap and cloth to begin the arduous process of scrubbing her skin raw.

He hummed and repeated her. "Eleanoren. Ell-ea-nor-en. Pretty. Do you want to know who I am, Eleanoren?"

A suspicion had begun to form in that place she tucked away thoughts that might have upset the _a’dam’s_ boundaries when she had been collared.

When she did not voice an answer, he clicked his tongue. "Manners, child. It is rude not to accept a proper introduction from a guest."

She blushed at the admonishment, unseen though she was. "I am not sure which answer is safe," Elea admitted, hushed breath cooling her words.

That ringing laughter knelled out again. "Ah, Eleanoren, you are a treasure. Where has Mazrim been hiding you?"

"I've only been here a few days."

"I see." The laughter receded from his voice all at once. "Do you know what your M'Hael is, child?" 

She thought on this a heartbeat, wondering whether there was no wrong answer if this man implied what she thought. Answering truthfully might be safer in the end. "Yes."

"Such hesitancy. He forbade you from speaking of it outright, I assume." She could just make out him drumming his fingers on the arm of the elegant seat. "You might say I am the one he serves. Or, more accurately, the one who speaks for Him."

She forgot to breathe until a cough forced itself out of her, caught in the knowledge like a net. 

"Yes, I thought you might not like that. Do you want to know which one I am?"

Forsaken. The word screamed through her mind with every beat of her heart. "Do I have a choice?"

He hummed. "I suppose it doesn't matter. I am called Moridin." She recommenced scrubbing herself, trying not to work her mind against his words. "Not a familiar name, I know. However, a new name for a new Age. It is suitable."

A new name… her mind was cycling through the male Forsaken despite her attempts to silence it. 

Aginor. Asmodean. Balthamel, Be'lal.

"Tell me, Eleanoren, where did Taim find you?"

Demandred, Ishamael, Rhavin.

"This… I." It would be best not to provoke him. "I was _damane_."

Sammael. Aginor. Asmodean. Balthamel.

"Seanchan? No, the accent is wrong. More recently captured then. Why did our Mazrim decide to claim you?"

Be'lal. Demandred.

"I shielded him. Just for a few moments."

Another peal of laughter. 

Ishamael.

"Did you? You must be a strong little thing."

Rhavin. She did not reply.

"How old are you, child?"

Sammael.

"Seventeen."

He hummed again, a thoughtful sound. "So young. A child in truth. Lovely as well. Yes, I can see why Taim would covet you."

Aginor. 

"Tell me," he wondered, "are you as obedient as Suroth claims you leashed little channelers are?"

Elea was sure her heart would soon stop, beating itself into a hum like those miniature, jewel bright birds' wings. 

"Well?"

"I try to be." The words were small in her throat, but even then could hardly escape.

"And Taim has yet to touch you. A shame." He tutted to himself. "You will be remarkable leverage."

"What?" It was out before she could stop it. 

"I could try to be gentle if you came willingly. At least the first time."

It was an offhand comment in the way he said it, but it landed straight through her. "Subsequent punishments would have to hurt, though I promise you there are much worse rapists to be had."

Elea trembled.

"Are you nearly finished, child? I can't imagine the water is still warm."

She choked in her attempt to speak and Moridin sighed. 

"I'm not going to touch you, little flower, not unless Taim requires a lesson."

She tried to slow her breathing, let the words flow through her like a wave. He'd said it rested on _Taim_ , so there was no action she could take. Still, terror held her in icy claws. 

"And I was enjoying our little conversation."

That punctured her fear enough she shakily said, "My gown is on the bed."

"Ah, so it is. I could give it to you." When she began to deny his aid, Moridin added, "Using the Power, petal. I won't peek."

"Would you please?"

Elea stood and began to dry herself, plucking her clothes from the air with a murmured, "Thank you," and slowly dressing. It was the green gown today, a lovely, shining garment. Too much for her, but her choices were limited. 

"Nearly finished?"

She checked that everything was in place, then swept her wet hair into a hasty bun. "Yes."

When Moridin turned, he leisurely surveyed her form. "Taim prefers the dress of his homeland, I see. I myself have more varied tastes. Though I have lived far longer than his handful of years." He stepped closer and Elea had to check the instinct to fly backward. 

His head tipped as he considered her, warmth swept over her hair, and her hand flew up to find her hair dry. "Thank you," she stuttered. "My lord." That was hastily added. 

"Moridin, flower, just Moridin."

Elea nodded. "Thank you, Moridin." It was slowly said, nearly a question, but his smile said he was pleased. 

"You are an amusing little creature, Eleanoren. How long were you leashed?"

"Near three years." There were three paces between them and when she spoke he stepped forward again. 

"And where from?"

"Tremalking."

His brows twitched upward. "I did not expect that." Moridin peered at her with those curiously blue eyes, stepping within arm's reach and she gasped as a black speck floated through the rich color of his iris. "Nothing to worry about, flower. Hm. I've called you that quite a bit now, haven't I? What else can I call you? Lamb? You certainly look fragile enough. Pet? Mm. I _did_ like petal. What did you think?"

"No one has ever called me that before." Elea was almost dizzy at the sudden shifts in topic, treading carefully in his dark waters. This man, Moridin, Forsaken, was mad. 

"That might be my favorite. Pretty little petal, leaves all a-tremble in her pretty green gown." He made to reach for her, but a sudden change made them both pause. 

Elea's head flew in the direction her bond now tugged from as the M'Hael returned to the Black Tower. 

"That is Taim Travelling, isn't it?"

She licked her lips and murmured, "Yes."

"You did not tell me he was away from the Tower, petal." His features were set sternly.

"You didn't ask where his meeting was."

A grin blossomed across Moridin's face, and he looked for all the world like an innocent young man filled with joy. "I didn't, did I? Clever, clever." He stepped forward again and she was staring at his chest. It seemed Moridin was taller than Taim by the smallest bit. "Look at me, petal. Let me see what the sun sees when the flowers all gaze up him."

Elea tilted her head back to meet his eyes with her own, blue on blue. She was sure his were far more unnerving than hers could ever be.

"Good, obedient girl." His pupils were large staring down at her and she felt behind herself for something to help keep her steady. A wall. The table. Anything. 

"What's this?"

Moridin spun on his heel. "Ah, Mazrim. I was just getting acquainted with your Ward. Quite the treasure you have found."

"Yes," the M'Hael agreed, circling around Moridin to gesture her to him. "I am glad you approve." He was wary, and his gaze studied her to assure himself nothing was amiss. 

"I could be more glad," the Forsaken countered, "if you had her come to my bed." He chuckled at the sudden stillness of the other man. "Mazrim, it is too easy to rile you. I would not seek to pluck your petal before you have tasted her yourself. And I will not take her by force unless you step out of line." His face had fallen into empty lines at the threat. "But I promise I will enjoy every second she's under me if you do. And I will be the gentle punishment. If the trespass is deep enough..."

"Shaidar Haran," the other man growled. 

Elea's confusion must have been written across her face. 

"He is a myrddraal much as I am a man, petal. Another hand of the Dark Lord. He, like all myrddraal, thrives on rape. The more violent, the more delicious." The man reached a cool hand to stroke his knuckles across her cheek. “You would look so lovely.”

She did not ask him to elaborate, pouring herself instead into not flinching away. Taim wrapped an arm around her waist and pulled her to him, and Moridin backed away. 

“I was thinking we could play a game of sha’rah, though in light of the hour and your newest acquisition, perhaps tcheran would be more appropriate. I would hate to delay your pleasure.” Moridin’s gaze drifted weightedly from her to Taim.

“Take a book and go into the sitting room, Eleanoren. Moridin and I prefer to play in private.”

“Yes, Master,” she murmured, all too glad to retreat from the madman in the room. She skittered to a bookshelf and plucked one without thought.

“Master?” enquired Moridin.

As Elea skirted around the men to the house’s main sitting room, she heard the start of Taim’s response. “It was difficult enough to keep her speaking in first person…”

The sitting room proper was on the first floor while Taim’s chambers were on the third. She took the stairs as silently as she could manage, as she didn’t want to alert the servants of anything having changed. Elea did not imagine the Forsaken would take kindly to an interruption.

The book was a classic, one of Jain Farstrider’s, and immersive enough that her mind was able to drift from the events above and slowly ease into the gentle current that was the introduction to the adventurer’s tale. 

In the back of her mind, she could still (in the space between pages) hear the litany of Forsaken names, the waves of thought tumbling over what little she knew of Moridin and how it matched against the villains of days past.

Aginor, Asmodean, Balthamel…

“He is gone now, little bird.” She looked to the entrance way of the room and locked gazes with Taim. “Come back to my quarters.” When she stood before him, he laid his hand on her lower back and guided her before him, silent until they passed the threshold to his private sitting area.

“When did he arrive?” He spun her to face him, wrapping one large palm around her forearm bruisingly deep. 

Her tongue snaked across salty lips, sensitive from being chewed in nervous contemplation. “I was in the bath.”

His jaw firmed, nostrils flaring, face otherwise still; she could feel the thrashing waves of fury battering at her mind. “You were in the bath. He saw you bathing.”

It was hard to breathe through the thick flood; it heated her face and down to her chest, which she was thankful was hidden under the modest neckline of the gown. “Well?”

She gasped in breaths, withholding a wince from his rough handling, desperately reaching for the right words. “I hid beneath the water, Master. He saw my shoulders and knees, nothing more! I swear it!”

Taim was silent for a stretch, gazing down at her with those burning dark eyes. The waves of his anger calmed to mild lapping at the edges of their bond. Then his grip softened and circled his thumb over the soft material of her gown. “He likes you, which is unfortunate for both of us.” Taim tugged her toward his bedchamber where there was somehow a second chair by Taim’s. It was black, not quite as high-backed as the other, but was immaculately dark. He bade her sit in it, still holding her arm. 

The chair smelled strange to her, out of place. It was cool and had yet to absorb the smoky firewood scent from the hearth. There was something almost sweet hanging about it, but that layer sent a shiver of icy water down her spine.

“He wishes you to accompany me to a meeting with one of his…” Taim peered into her, the bond skimming along her emotions as though he might gain insight to her mind. “He wishes me to dangle you before Demandred for his amusement.”

Her chest squeezed, heart forming a vacuum that sucked out all breath. He truly was one of the Forsaken. Powerful enough to meet with Demandred, to toy with him. Demandred, who had been second to Lews Therin Telamon, who turned to the Dark out of envy. 

Elea shook her head, the air not coming to her. She could feel the collar snapping around her throat with that resounding click, the sudden severing of something she had never been consciously aware of, and the sweeping satisfaction out of place in her chest. Trapped, tethered, tied. Only alone in the oppressive darkness of her own mind, and even then not always. Never now.

“Eleanoren.” Her name was a command, and Elea’s head snapped up to face Taim. “Calm, my finch. You’re safe. He already said he would not take you without good reason. And that is one truth I know of Moridin. He does nothing without reason.” The unoccupied hand rose to stroke the tears Elea had not realized streamed down her cheeks. “You’re afraid.”

The hysterical giggle wormed itself out before she could stop it. “I’m terrified,” Elea hiccoughed. “He is one of the Forsaken. He is, he is. I cannot. No.”

“Shush, sweet bird.” He pulled her into his lap in a sweep of long arms she hardly felt. “You know Moridin was not always his name?” Taim stroked her hair, holding her to his chest, greedy hands delighting in the feel of her there. “Do you have an idea who he was before?” An emphatic shake of her head drew a sigh from him. “You do. I am not surprised. He is somewhat less volatile since changing, but Ishamael was mad for Ages.”

Her chest caught again and Taim hummed and rocked. 

Ishamael. Ishamael.

Ishamael _liked_ her. Ishamael wanted to use her to keep control over Taim. Ishamael wanted her to be trapped somewhere with a dreadlord and two Forsaken.

“He threatened. He said he would, he wanted." Elea could not force her mouth to form the words, and her tongue was too heavy to bear their weight. 

"My sweet little bird." He combed her hair from her face with long, calloused fingers. "I do not plan to give him reason to carry out that threat. Moridin does what suits his purpose, and it would not suit his purpose to take what is mine."

She swallowed down in futile attempt to ease her tightening throat, whirling memories of stories of these Dark Thirteen playing in her head. "Would he?"

Taim read her questions meaning true and sighed. "He would. Again, it must suit some purpose, or not go against any, but that is the fullness of Moridin's ethics. He is ancient and has steeped himself in all things Dark."

Moridin's sharp blue gaze flashed through her and Elea shook the image from her head. Fresh tears breached the dam to flood her cheeks.

"I know," Taim murmured into her hair. "I know, little bird. I have you now. I will keep you safe. Shush, sweet bird." His empty sentiments twined with her sobs until the last of her tears drained Elea to sleep.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A meeting among the Forsaken.

As promised, gowns trickled in from the seamstress. White was the most common color, followed closely by black and various blues, and then other dark shades. Navy and robin’s egg and a pale sky, bloody scarlet, charcoal. There was a rich rose and even one gown that was beautifully silver, like flowing metal. Her cloak was lined in some plush white fur that she wondered at as she stroked it. It was all well-made, beautiful. She didn’t understand how she could own so many beautiful things.

Her room slowly came together as well, and the wardrobe was full to bursting with Elea’s clothing.

She should begin sleeping there soon as well.

Elea stood in the room, smaller than Taim’s, and spun in a slow circle. The wood was all paler than what was used in the M’Hael’s room, almost ashen. It all had birds and budding flowers carved into it, from the wardrobe wider than she was tall to the side table already laden with a delicate porcelain basin and matching pitcher. She idly wondered if she knew who had painted the shining pieces.

There was no bed yet. She had offered to sleep on a pallet in her room, but her Master would have none of it. She was kept much in the manner of a pampered pet one might allow in the bed, though there were moments when the man looked at her with something glinting in his eyes.

At least he allowed her walks, taking her arm in his and guiding her through the blossoming town. He would nod in greeting at his people, stop and speak to some, even introducing her at times; more often than not he enjoyed her silent acceptance of his authority. The M’Hael was mostly too busy for such, though. He had meetings and inspections and training and lessons. As one of the most experienced channelers of the Black Tower, he hosted private sessions with the upper tier students. Sometimes she was asleep before he retired to his bed.

This was not such an evening.

Taim burst through the door as she sat curled in his chair and reading. It was after dinner and she had changed into a long, soft nightgown. Her Master stood over her and considered the girl with his sharp, dark eyes. His lips were set in a stern line. At last, he commanded, “Get dressed. We have been called to a meeting.”

Elea allowed herself to chew her lip instead of asking why, nodding and slipping from the cushioned seat. Before she could pass by, his hand shot to encircle her pale, bare forearm. “Wear white. Emphasize your softness, your innocence.” His thumb stroked along the sensitive flesh. “Do not take long.”

Her head dipped and she murmured, “Yes, Master.” His hand dropped and he allowed her to pass through the door that connected their rooms.

She drifted straight to the wardrobe and pulled open the door that revealed all the varied white fabrics. There was one that was far too elaborate, divided skirts with peeking silver beneath, pearls and delicate beading sewn in; one of cotton, clearly meant for travel. Her fingers trailed over the different materials and stopped on raw silk, light and supple.

Elea removed it from the wardrobe and surveyed it. It was simple, with the barest hint of silver embroidery on the sleeves and edging from bosom to high neck. She would have to wear her cloak with it, as the material was almost filmy in its lightness. She changed into the appropriate undergarments and slid the dress overhead, her fingers struggling to get the pearlescent buttons on her back, then the two at her collar (far easier).

She sat at the vanity, well-named piece that it was, and searched through for a silver pin, gathering up her hair to slide the pin into. Gathering her cloak in her arms, Elea knocked at her Master’s door and entered when he called for her.

He was sitting by the fire and sipping wine, staring into the crackling flames. As she entered, his gaze roamed from her slipper-clad feet to her own paler eyes. He stood in one fluid motion and pulled a box from the mantle that had not been there before.

“Come here. Turn.” She faced the fire and listened to the man shifting behind her. He had opened the box and there was now a metallic jingling. One hand smoothed over the dip of her waist before retreating, and then he slipped the metallic length around her front, securing it behind her back in efficient motions. “There.”

Elea stared down at the belt dipping in a vee at the front of her waist. It was made of jointed, clever silver dragons. A stripe of cerulean enamel graced each segment, and where they met, they held a deep, nearly black sapphire, their eyes glimmering with the same.

Taim pulled her into him, chin atop her head. “Beautiful.” He stroked the silk above the sapphire and Elea’s cheeks burned. “Do you like it?”

“It is very beautiful.” It was difficult to think, his other hand joining the first to press against her stomach.

He hummed and nuzzled down to lay a delicate kiss on the pale flesh above her collar. “Just as you are, my little bird.” The M’Hael straightened and took her cloak from her arms, setting it on the chair he had vacated. “It is warm where we are going.”

A white line sliced through the air and unfolded into a gateway. Taim tucked her arm through his and guided her through, his hand possessively holding her own as they stepped into a chamber where light seemed to emanate from the walls, white stone and rising until they could no longer be seen, the ceiling seemingly nonexistent. There were people in the vast room, seated in a circle. All of them were opulent in their way, Moridin least of all, though their attentions were on him before he stood to greet the newcomers.

“Ah, Mazrim, there you are.” He gestured the pair forward, a smile lighting in his eyes as his blue eyes danced down her body before locking gazes with her. “And Eleanoren, petal. You look lovely.” Moridin took her free hand as he neared and grazed a kiss against her inflamed cheek. “Sit, please.”

Beside his own authere black throne had appeared one with a tangle of silver dragons crowning the high back. “Thank you, Moridin,” her Master said stiffly, guiding her to the seat. When Elea glanced about for a seat of her own, the Forsaken leader smothered a chuckle. Taim arranged himself, then tugged her to him; she stumbled and felt the earth might swallow her up when she realized his meaning and perched upon his lap.

“Not that I don’t appreciate the sight, Moridin, but what is the meaning of this?” Elea peered out from under her dark blonde lashes to see a voluptuous woman eyeing them both. The woman’s hair was rich gold and strewn with jewels, and her gown was a nearly sheer green material that had the girl blushing to her roots. She lowered her eyes, staring blankly at the beautiful woman’s throne, but as she puzzled out the tangle of limbs that made up the monstrosity, her head jerked to the side, eyes widening to the size of saucers she’d once assisted making.

The woman’s laugh was as rich as the rest of her. “I wasn’t aware of predilection for children, Taim.”

“She is of an age with that child Amyrlin,” he sniped, wrapping a possessive arm around her waist. Elea could feel the heat of his fury, but the woman just hummed.

“Eleanoren is a guest, Graendal. I specifically requested the M’Hael bring her.”

Graendal. The name echoed through her mind, its reverberations calling up visions of carnality she shook her head to dissipate.

“Tell me,” intoned the strange man, once more addressing his inferiors, “do you recognize her, Semirhage?”

Elea’s neck cracked with the force of her shift, wide blue eyes flicking over the dark lords and ladies until they halted upon a familiar form. A long, graceful being bedecked in a severe black gown. The girl followed the refined lines of the woman to a face surrounded by short, dark waves, inkdrop eyes returning her gaze with an odd glint. This elegant being tickled in her memory, but it was only upon speaking that the woman confirmed her theory.

“Should I? She’s a slip of a girl, a child even by this Age’s standards.”

The melodious voice sent shivers through Elea.

“Eleanoren, petal.” Moridin turned his unnerving black-flecked eyes toward her. “Do you know who this woman is? Not as a Forsaken, but from outside this little circle.”

She nodded, her head bowed in a show of submission. How she longed to throw herself to the ground to prostrate and await judgement for the audacity of sitting and speaking before the Truth Speaker. “Perhaps this will assist you.”

Cold, gleaming metal snapped about her throat and Elea cried out, hands tugging at the _a’dam_ that had appeared out of the air. What was this place, that the Forsaken could collar with her with a thought? The leash was too long and she followed it to see that the other half clasped the sadistic woman’s wrist. Tears fountained from Elea’s eyes as she desperately tugged, but her hands were already faltering, heaviness invading her limbs and threading through her veins until she felt so very tired…

“Sit straight, girl.”

It was instinct that had her obeying as a dart of pain punctured the drowsiness. Elea’s hands fell to her lap and she straightened her shoulders. A purring warmth followed her obedience.

“Look at me.” Her eyes shot up and the Lady was watching her with a predator’s black eyes in a doll’s face. “A _damane_ , Taim? I did not know you and I shared tastes.”

Elea’s lashes fluttered with the tugging, electric heat pulsing through the _a’dam_. It was not the usual pleasure sent to her by a pleased sul’dam, and she struggled to hide her heaving breaths and heated cheeks. As a heavy weight settled around her, stroking her side with possessive fingers, she whined quite unwillingly.

“Take it off.” The rumbling growl sent a thrill through her and she pressed herself into the man, nearly melting as sweet laughter surrounded her with the heady bliss.

“But Graendal would enjoy the show,” the woman she’d known as Anath countered. “And I am certainly enjoying playing with your toy, boy.”

Elea tumbled to the ground at the last word, knees battered through the scant protection of her gown, hands scraping against stone.

“If you wanted a contest of strength, you only needed to ask.”

Thorns tore through her insides, prickling and catching and ripping, and Elea dove onto her stomach in submission. “Please, Great Lady, mercy.” Stinging poultice against her invisible wounds so that her body tensed with the effort not to curl into a ball. Instead holding position as a good _damane_. “This one is sorry, Great Lady, for whatever offense--”

Weight disappeared from her throat and the internal tears across her flesh misted away with it.

“That is quite enough,” came the smooth, cool command from above her. A black boot nudged at Elea’s cheek as she huffed with her forehead still pressed against the rugged stone. The next words were directed down at her, lower and almost soothing. “Up, petal.” She flailed in her hurry to sit up, knees to her chest, uncaring of the rumpled gown riding her body awkwardly so that slim, pale calves flashed in the twilight. A hand stroked through her mussed hair, but she paid it no mind, still staring down and into oblivion. “You’ve been a very good girl. Semirhage just enjoys her cruelty. Isn’t that right?”

“Yes, yes, the little _damane_ was perfectly obedient.” It was dismissive, but enough that the cord tightening around her ribs loosened and Elea could breathe. “Now why is this Asha’man here, Moridin? He is not one of the Chosen.”

“I am stronger than you are in the one Power,” Elea’s Master growled. “And I have no compunctions against proving it.”

Her bleary eyes rose to watch Taim, something she knew was safe. He stood a few paces from the Dark Lady, who herself had risen from her throne. She was a willowy statue, standing easily a head above the former _damane_ should Elea think to stand, though still not quite so tall as the M’Hael.

“I have need of him here while I give orders. Now sit, before I force obeisance.” Taim stalked to his seat as the woman lowered herself. He held out a hand for his girl to take and she laid her own in it to be hauled back to his lap. He held her tightly to his chest, wrapping her in his arms until she was enveloped in the scent of fire, old books, and masculinity.

“What Demandred saw in this arrogant boy, I can’t fathom.” Semirhage’s tone implies dismissal, but there was a hint of simmering rage below the surface, little bubbles of heat rising in her tone.

The other Forsaken woman hummed in amusement and Elea’s shy gaze flittered to her. The blonde tapped her generous red lips as she considered the man and his pet. “He saw what all men hope to see in a protege: himself.” The two women exchanged a glance, a conversation in the touch of black and aqua. The darker woman nodded in acquiescence.

“Now if we are quite finished with the dramatics?”

Graendal leaned forward on her throne, arms showcasing the generous mounds of breasts that seemed to defy the laws of nature in their well-formed peaks, ripe features radiating merriment. “Why, nae’blis, one might think you had not set up this little diversion in hopes of a spark or two?”

“Eternity grows stale at times; forgive me my indulgence. However, this was not my only cause to bring you all together. Now.” He turned toward Elea directly, canting his head as he bored into her marrow with his endless eyes. “Sweet child, I am going to deafen those delicate ears of yours while I relay orders to my lieutenants. Not that I don’t trust you-- and I don’t, flower-- but I do not make a habit of telling my plans in their fullness to anyone being. Worry not, your hearing will return. Do you understand?” She nodded, the rhythm against her sternum stuttered with the force of his attention. “Good little girl.”

It was not a perfect silence; while the room outside herself was fuzzy in its lack of noise, she could hear her own breaths in her chest, through her lips, amplified by the sheer silence beyond. There was a rushing, like the marching of ants echoing in her head, and she belatedly realized it was her own blood thrumming with the pulsing of her heart. How strange it was, so be suddenly aware of the little musics of her body. A slight shift and her joint might pop, or the very cloth adorning her would shush and rustle.

Taim’s hands also susurrated over the fabric on her body, or elicited a soft clink from the belt around her waist. While he listened, his hawkish regard outward at the Forsaken, his fingers stroked over her stomach, her ribs, dipping down to line the elegant joints of her belt and up to the delicate beading over the notch between her ribs. When she’d shifted after a particularly adventurous foray where his nails had grazed to the dip of her collar, one heavy palm laid on her thigh, a silent order to stay in place.

Through their bond, he was cautious, cold, seething with jealousy. A spike of irritation, yellow-orange in her mind, madde her tilt her head, peering at the sharp edges of his face. The irritation flared into a roil and hesitant finger reached toward him. He turned and caught her eye, leaning into the touch, and the fire abated to embers beneath something cloudlike and soft. The corner of his mouth twitched, the line of his eyes crinkling, and she found herself encouraged to slide her fingers over his cheek. He kept clean shaven, but the grain of stubble scratched against her palm when she flattened it over her harsh cheek. He nuzzled into it, lowering his angular face to her, and the harsh truth of their surroundings clattered against her ears as sound returned.

The M’Hael’s lips brushed against the sensitive flesh of her palm and he pulled away.

Elea rubbed her hands together and peered about to see all sign of the two women gone. Moridin stood and observed the man and girl, but otherwise the room was empty. Her Master dipped an arm under her legs and rose, and Elea suppressed a hiccough of alarm, clinging to him dizzily. His thumb smoothed her calf where he could touch it from the ridden skirt of her dress. He paced forward, the gateway forming in front of him.

“A moment, Mazrim.” Tension stiffened the shoulders under black fabric as Taim froze. “I would like to start tomorrow. You may come at any time; if I am engaged, there will be someone waiting.”

The man’s nostrils flared and anger prickled between them.

“Is that amenable?” Moridin was unaffected, handsome visage mild.

“Fine.” The word grated through his chest.

Moridin smiled emptily. “Good. Then I will see you tomorrow. Rest well, petal”

Taim tightened his hold on the girl as he stepped through the gate.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the Forsaken are petty, childish, exactly as Verin describes them.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Another visit with Moridin.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is currently moving a bit faster than I expected, but oh well.

She was practically thrown onto the bed, catching herself on the downy pillows. Taim’s fury flamed through their bond and Elea curled into herself, wary eyes watching as he jerked off his jacket and strewed it across the floor. He had always taken great care to preserve her modesty and his own; he sent her to her room to change or she did so before he returned. Likewise, he never undressed before her. And when Elea realized he was now doing just that, she buried her face in her arms until the rustling of fabric was done. 

“Well?”

The bed dipped and steel wrapped around her shoulder, pulling her into a seated position.

“Beg pardon, Master?” Elea’s gaze was still on her lap, but she could feel the darkness of the M’Hael behind her. 

His sigh of disappointment flinched against her neck, then he tugged at the belt where it fastened at her back. “I do not like when you prostrate yourself for others.” She had no words for that, biting her lip in shame. “You are mine.” The last word as punctuated by the heavy slide of the metal coming off her body. “I am more powerful than Semirhage. I am more powerful than most of the so-called Chosen. Yet you fear her?” 

The metal clinked mutely as he set the silver dragon belt aside. Elea leaned forward to rise, but the hand returned to her shoulder and tugged her back. She stilled as his fingers whispered across the silk and began plucking at the buttons, revealing the delicate skin of her back so goosebumps rose. The rough pads trailed over the bumps of her spine almost thoughtfully.

“I am a jealous man, Eleanoren. You would do well to remember that.” The warmth of his breath tickled her nape. “No one can touch you unless I say. No one can touch you as I touch you.” The rough scratch of his chin grazed her skin as he nudged the cloth from the soft spot between her throat and shoulder. He hummed at her quiet acceptance, the rage in him simmering lower, and he brushed a kiss in that tender spot. “That place was Tel’aran’rhiod. The World of Dreams. There you can imagine away an a’dam around your throat. You must remember that in the future. I felt a shadow of what it was around your throat.” His fingers trailed over the notch there. “But an a’dam can always be removed. The bond between us cannot. You were a creature of the Seanchan for scant years; you will be mine for eternity. I will not die. And you, little dove, will be with me all the while.” 

Taim sighed and pulled back. 

“You may change. Go on.”

Elea scrambled from the bed and to the door between their rooms. Upon shutting her door, she leaned against it and breathed a silent sob. Too much was happening at once, and the possessive touch of Taim and the mocking ones of Moridin’s lingered on her skin like lightning. After years of the distant leash, she was ill-equipped to handle physicality. And Taim’s way of commanding her swung from that which was familiar to almost treating her like a person. 

Elea clenched her fists until the sharpness of her nails in the meat of her palm grounded her into peace, then set about exchanging the pretty silk gown for the loose nightgown that hung to her ankles. Her hair tumbled down as she extracted the silver pin and slid a brush through her hair, plaiting it and tying it before steeling herself to return.

Taim was sipping a dark liquor and seated in his chair by the fire. His dark eyes flit toward her as she entered and he gestured her to him. “Would you like some, sweet bird?” Elea jerked her head to the side. The alcohol he’d given her before had left her too light, too supple. He chuckled and patted his knee, and she realized she could feel the softening warmth of the liquor through their bond. “Try,” Taim commanded, laying a hand on her stomach to pull her to his lap. The cut crystal held to her lips, and she had no choice but drink from it. 

It burned down her throat, too sharp on her tongue, and she coughed after swallowing. Taim chuckled and stroked his thumb over her ribs. He tapped it to her lip again for another draught, then tipped the rest into his own mouth. The alcohol swirled hotly in her stomach and the world gleamed, soft-edged. They sat in silence for a moment, marinating in the fuzzy clarity of alcohol.

It could not last.

“Tomorrow you will go to Moridin. He has agreed, as you heard before, that he will do nothing to you that I have not unless I have done something worth punishment. And he will not, under the same condition, use force. Do you understand, little one?” His voice was soft, eyes reflecting the flames from the hearth.

“Yes, Master.” She stared at his throat, hands gripped in her lap. He slowly turned to meet gazes with her, the hot coals of his eyes searing. 

“I know you are afraid, Eleanoren. With him, you have every reason. You will be obedient, but you will remember where you belong. And you will stay with him as much as you may; it is not safe where he rules.” Taim tipped her chin to study her further. “To whom do you belong?” 

“You, my lord,” she murmured softly. 

“Who do you obey?”

“You, Master.”

The crystal tumbler had been set aside and the empty hand stroked down her back. “And for whom do you kneel?”

She swallowed through the dryness at the back of her throat. “Only you.”

His thumb brushed over her lips, tickling and warm. “That’s right, my sweet little bird.”

That night he doffed his night shirt with the light still on and slid into the bed, tugging her body against his own. She looked away from the hard planes of him, cheeks burning hot. He had always kept his distance in the evening, but Elea could still feel the jealousy seething in the back of the bond and knew he would possess her as he could in the hours until he turned her over. She still did not know why Moridin wanted her to join him, but wondered that it may have to do with the dislike Taim felt for it. 

His body was warm and hard against her, arms around her like a child with a favored doll as he slept. Elea tried not to think about the lean glimpse of chest she had seen, the dark hair trailing downward, the strange sensations that had flooded her earlier in the evening. 

Those last were harder to ignore when heat rolled through the bond and the man pulled her more tightly against him. It was ages before sleep overtook her, and Elea’s dreams were full of fire and bated breaths.

“Do you remember what I told you?” Elea gave a tremulous nod. “Very good. You will be safe. And you will only be with him for a few hours. I will come for you tonight.”  Taim trailed fingers over the belt cinched around her waist, over the fine black gown that was heavily embroidered over bodice and sleeves with blue roses and silver thorns. Her hair was braided and pinned in a crown atop her head, Levania having added matching little sapphires to hold it tight. She was fully adorned to match the man holding her. “Very well. No point making him wait.”

The slash of light this time led to a cool throne room-like chamber where a lone black chair that was not quite royally grand stood at the end. And Moridin was sprawled there, long legs crossed at the ankles in front of himself and, as always, in unrelieved black. At their entrance, a lazy smile unfurled across his lips. 

“Mazrim, welcome. I did not expect you so early." He stood in greeting, holding out an arm for Taim to clasp. "Will you stay for a drink?"

Taim jerked his head. “I have business to attend to. Perhaps when I return?”

Black floated across the taller man’s cerulean gaze as he considered Taim. Elea could just make out the specks when her Master clasped forearms with him. “It has been some time. Would you stay then for a game?”

Fingers trailed down her spine. “If there is time,” Taim conceded.

The lazy smile was back. “Excellent. Then I shall see you this evening.” That unnerving gaze turned to her. “Petal.” He held out a hand. “Don’t you look lovely. A testament to your master’s care.” His eyes lingered on the silver dragon belt encircling her waist.

Taim tilted her chin toward him. “Remember what we talked about. I will be back for you this evening.”

“Yes, Master,” she murmured.

His thumb stroked across her bottom lip. “Good girl.” 

Taim released a slow breath and nudged her toward the outstretched hand. Elea took it at last, her own disappearing as his cool fingers entrapped her. He tugged her toward him as a slash of white light appeared to once more take Taim. The M’Hael’s jaw rolled as he looked between the two, then turned heel and stalked away.

The room was still, as though it had taken a breath at the opening of the Gate and she was trapped within it. Elea felt too alive, too jittery for the space. The silence seemed to echo along the empty, austere columns. Black and white and red, ebon and ivory and scarlet. That was everything within her sight, barring the too blue eyes of the man beside her who was as still as the marble surrounding. 

At last the room released its silent breath as Moridin came back to life. “Hm. What am I to do with you?” She could feel the slow rhythm of his chest as it rose and fell. As he led back to his seat and took his place, either leg spread with her between his knees, caged. His head tilted, eyes lazily roaming her. “You know the rules, I take it? The limitations your Master has set?” 

Elea nodded uncertainly, eyes boring into the floor to the left of his seat, nerves running down her spine at the intensity of his blank stare. The hand clasping her own tugged her closer, so she could feel the faint heat of him and the black of his trousers brushed her sides. His thumb was mapping the small bones of her hand. 

“And what exactly has your Master done?” That word on his lips was tilted, light, mocking. “Has he explored you, stripped you bare?” At her sharp denial, he hummed. “Up.” The command was soft but steely, and cut through the haze of her nerves. She perched on one thigh and an arm wrapped around her to pull her toward his chest, strew her legs across him. “This, I know he has done.” His lips whispered against her ear, breath tingling down her flesh. “He sleeps beside you at night and does not take advantage?” Moridin huffed a chuckle. “I am sure there is something other than holding you he has done.” At her stillness, he pressed, fingers skimming her jaw to turn her face toward his. “Tell me.”

Elea swallowed, tongue cloven to the roof of her mouth. Her voice, when it finally came, was hoarse and small. “Kissed…” Was all she managed.

The cold blue flicked to her lips. “He’s kissed you?” His hand was back on the arm of the chair and his fingertips drummed thoughtfully. “I suppose that is something.”

Before she could slog through to a thought of response, his shoulders tensed. He turned forward to watch as a Gateway appeared and out came a man she did not recognize. 

He was tall, reminiscent of the man she served with the blade sharp nose and iron black eyes. One black brow rose at the sight of the Forsaken with an unknown girl on his lap. “Moridin.”

“Demandred. Welcome.”

The name echoed in her head, the litany of whispers and assurances sparking up in defiance. Demandred, Graendal, Ishamael (Moridin, her mind corrected), Lanfear, Mesaana, Moghedian…

The Dark One and all of the Forsaken are bound…

Large hands adjusting her pulled Elea out of her head. Moridin straightened her against him so her back was to his chest, fingers spread over her stomach just above the dragon belt. 

“Am I interrupting?” The words were tinged with question, but otherwise flat. 

The Forsaken was idly stroking her and the image of a sul’dam patting her head flashed through her mind. “Not at all. I am merely getting acquainted with Taim’s little pet.”

The man strode forward with all the threat of a _Torm_. “Pet?” Jet eyes dropped to her before rising dismissively. 

“Yes. A reformed damane. Your protégé seems to have your penchant for freeing slaves.” Moridin’s amusement rolled through his chest and rumbled against her back. “He insists she is as powerful as one of al’Thor’s girls.” A had slid over her braided crown. “Her sunshine pale hair reminded me of someone. I thought you might find her of interest.”

The eyes dropped again to study more closely and Elea flushed hotly, staring off. “I’m sure.” She could see the neat shrug of his broad shoulders. “My protégé, as you call him, seems to prefer your guidance to my own these days.”

“Well, you are quite busy with your own plots. He thrives under a nearer touch.” The hand in her hair had fallen to her thigh. “Have you succeeded in taking control?”

Demandred’s stern lips twisted. “Nearly.”

The other man tapped his fingers against the black of her gown. “If you found Ilyena reborn, or her very likeness, would you still want her for your own?”

The Forsaken blinked slowly and Elea wondered if that was irritation that flit across his features, though she would not hazard a glance. “I am concerned with al’Thor, not the dead.”

“Taim is covetous of al’Thor, perhaps as much as you are of Lews Therin. He particularly lusts for that little queen of his. The one with red gold hair. Such similar tastes they have, at least where appearances are concerned. This one, strong as she may be, lacks fire.” A cheek rested against her head. “Have you lost your penchant for blondes?”

From the edge of her vision Elea could see Demandred’s fist clench. “Is this why you summoned me?”

Moridin stilled. “If I had, it would be enough. But no, I had hoped for better news. Go. Your orders have not changed.”

A curt nod that was just not a bow and the man took his leave.

There were others while she perched upon Moridin’s lap. Beautiful blank-eyed servants brought drink and food. They were reminiscent of da’covale, but the blank smiles crawled over her flesh like beetle legs. Moridin would adjust her as he pleased, pet her, but mostly ignored her. She felt more decoration than person. At one point, as he gave orders to a masked man, she dozed against his chest. When she stirred awake, they were alone again.

“There’s my little petal,” he murmured, turning her so her legs folded to the side and she stared at the notch of his throat until he’d shifted them to peer into her face. “Did you nap well, sweet? You were so at peace; I don’t think I have seen anyone at their most vulnerable in Ages. My lovers know better than to tempt fate by staying to sleep.” Moridin tilted her chin, fingers skittered across her cheek. “Is Taim the only one to have tasted you? You had no little trysts or stolen kisses before collared?” Elea shook her head, breath coming in shallow puffs as she traced the paths of the black in his eyes. “How did you like it?”

A line formed between her brows as she frowned. “I don’t know.”

“You don’t know?” His pupils had widened, nearly swallowing up the blue, but he seemed curious at that, tracing the path of her pink tongue as she nervously slid it over her lips.

“It was when he bonded me. For the bonding. That’s how it is done. I was--” she hesitated. “I was overwhelmed. I fainted.”

That cold, jagged laugh fell from him at that. “You fainted, petal? Oh, you innocent little flower.” He cupped her jaw. “Then let us give your Master a pleasant surprise for his next kiss, hm? I have been an instructor in my time; I shall instruct you on this.” Moridin waited for a reply that did not come, and shook his head. “You were far more conversational that last time we were alone, petal.”

Before she could think better, Elea said, “I did not know who you were then. Not truly.”

He nodded, eyes still hovering on her lips. “Taim will want to dominate you with his kiss. You are his; that battle is won.” He thumbed down her bottom lip to reveal the shining plumpness. “Instead he will seek obedience, devotion. You must open to him as he demands, ply him with soft kisses when you may, follow where he leads. From you, he craves control. Longs to feel powerful. Do you understand, petal?”

Moridin had played along her lips as he spoke, other hand traipsing along her side. Her head spun as a leaf in a pool and she was dizzy with the warmth in her cheeks. Her head tilting was enough to show that she indeed did not understand. 

The man gave a long-suffering sigh. “Then I shall have to show you.” His hand wrapping around the nape of her neck was her only warning before Moridin’s mouth fell upon her own.

It was demanding, sucking in her bottom lip to nibble on it hungrily before his tongue swept out, forced between her gasping lips. He tasted of the wine they’d been drinking, sweet and bitter and dark enough to fall into. His tongue roamed her mouth, tickling at the roof, stroking along her own, sucking at her until she hesitantly stroked in return. 

His hands tightened on her, pulling her into him with fingers digging through the gown she wore so she would pepper with bruises. The hand at her neck traced across tender flesh to wrap around her throat. The pulse in her head sped as his fingers pressed. She could feel darkness like nighttime waves lapping at her mind until she grew dizzy, the world dimming and sparking behind her eyes. A choked little sound wormed from her almost mutely and he chuckled into her mouth, slowly pulling away so that spittle clung between their lips for a moment.

“Very good, petal. Too still at first, but you took my hint, didn’t you?” He slid the pad of his thumb through the sheen on her lip. “But you should reciprocate more. Move your lips, taste him, touch him. Mazrim enjoys hands upon him, and yours are like fluttering little butterflies.” He wrapped the hand not on her jaw around one of her slim wrists, fingers overlapping around it. “He will feel powerful with these little hands clutching desperately at him. Our Mazrim longs to be acknowledged as a force of his own. And you, little petal, are meant for just that. Let us try again.”

He dipped to her again, no less possessive. But this time she opened immediately and let her tongue trail his in uncertainty. He groaned and rocked her against him so she could feel his enjoyment, and tears flooded her closed eyes, slipped through her lashes. He stroked them as they trailed down her cheeks. His hand at her side brushed up to the side of her soft breasts beneath the gown and down to encourage her hips to move against him.

This time when he backed away, she did not move. Her lips remained parted, eyes still shut until a small cough startled her to peek over her shoulder.

There, his eyes burning through her, was her Master.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Taim's reaction and the following days.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Staying spicy, and hints of other happenings from off-screen.

“Welcome back, Mazrim.”

The dark eyed man stormed across to the seat where Elea sat upon the nae’blis’ lap and tugged her off, her legs flailing to gain purchase. “If you are quite done molesting my Ward,” he spat--

“Jealous?” Moridin was at his ease even with Taim’s burning fury turned upon him.

“Elea, go.” She hadn’t noticed the Gateway still open, but her feet guided her toward it without her permission.

“Master,” she murmured.

She could see his jaw flex as she passed him and he shook his head once, enough that she knew better than to attempt to beg leniency. The Gate twisted shut behind her and she collapsed to weak knees once the two men were out of sight. That had been the most mortifying experience of her short life. She pressed her palms over her mouth and stared at the floor as memory of Moridin’s soft lips against her own flashed through her mind. Ekea still felt the horrid throb of excitement, though tamped by her Master’s displeasure. She could feel little from him now with the gaping distance between them, and she thanked the Creator for that. He would no doubt dislike the swirling eddies in her core even as gentle as they’d grown.

Elea wiped her forehead with an unsteady hand, took a deep breath to still her inner waters, and rose to her feet. She should see about food, perhaps a bath to cleanse herself of the Forsaken’s touch, and bed.

As she expected, Taim did not return for the first and the servant called to attend to her thought the second foolish. So Elea had sufficed with washing hands and face upon finishing her simple fare, then changed into a sleeping gown. She hoped to be asleep before Taim returned; perhaps his wrath would lessen through the night and she would not find herself facing it tomorrow. 

She passed some time curled in his bed with a book. It was still a novelty to read at her leisure, part of her predicament she found pleasant. Her Master had a varied personal library, romance mingled with history and strategy and poem. When Elea found herself yawning more often than flipping through pages, she set the book aside and laid facing the wall.

The softness of the mattress beneath her still struck her as it had when Elea had awakened to find herself bound to Taim. It was reminiscent of floating in the Bay, and as she rolled onto her back with eyes closed, she imagined she was there instead, adrift in the turquoise waters. They would be teeming with little fish, some bold enough to eat at the dead skin on the bottoms of her feet. Sometimes she would feel the slick caress of kelp. And in her ears, instead of crackling fire and whispering flame, she would hear the distant click of crab claws, the bubbles of life, the sloshing of the ocean. The waters of her homeland were salty and soft as they held her buoyant form. This was where she belonged. Julus would be splashing nearby, or trying to fish up on the rocks. In this stillest alcove warm as the most perfect bath, was where she found her peace…

Only the barest stirring of air alerted her to the Gateway that would bring her Master through, and she stilled herself before she could tense, breathing deeply and focusing on the rhythm of her chest’s movement. Her limbs were nearly there, though her mind lagged behind, and one twitched in the way a sleeping body sometimes did.

He was no longer a furnace of emotions; his mood was hard to read through the bond, as though he’d gathered himself before stepping through. Elea chose to take that as a good sign. He stood for a moment and she could feel his dark eyes on her, then the susurration of cloth informed her of his movement.

A moment later his weight dipped the bed. He was beside her, close enough she could scent a heady musk of sweat and smoke and him, mixing with something that reminded her of Moridin and his domain; perhaps he’d drunk of the nae’blis’ wine.

He hummed and one large hand stroked over her stomach, warm and heavy through the night gown. It skimmed over her breasts, just a hint of knuckle, and he ran a calloused thumb down her cheek before pressing a kiss to her temple. The red of the fire through her eyelids disappeared and he settled against her, one arm pulling her body into his. That was how sleep found her. A warm, spicy scent tugged at the corner of her mind as the sea beneath her rocked idly once, twice, thrice. It was tea, Taim’s preferred blend, her mind supplied. And that thought broke the tenuous grip of sleep. 

Her lashes batted open in time to see her Master stand and shrug into shirtsleeves. His long fingers flicked to each button in turn and Elea realized once he was half-finished that she was staring at his chest. Her cheeks flushed and she scrambled to sit up and stare at her hands instead.

His resultant chuckle was warm, low, reminded her of Moridin the day before, and she felt the blush spread down her throat. “Good morning, little bird.”

Elea swallowed down her embarrassment and obediently looked to him as she said, “Good morning, my lord.” All but the top two buttons were done up now and she was glad of the modesty. 

Taim leaned over the bed to trail a hand across her cheek. Through the bond she could hint none of the anger from the evening before. He was studying her as she tried not to squirm under his investigation when her eyes fell to his throat. There was a red bruise and one of her hands lifted toward it.

“Shall I Heal that for you, Master?” Elea murmured.

“Hm?” He furrowed black brows, his own fingers flitting toward the mark and lighting on it. “Ah. I had forgotten… No matter. It will be covered soon enough.” A ripple of heat trickled through the bond and she blushed again as confusion rose.

She nodded once and the hand fell back to her lap.

Taim slid onto the bed beside her and held her jaw. “You’ve been so good for me of late, sweet bird.”

“I have?”

“Yes.” His eyes shone at the quickening of her pulse. “I.” He hesitated, then began again. “I spoke with Moridin about yesterday.” His thumb stroked over her lips. “I shall have to test your lesson later. I’m told you proved an apt pupil. Alas, it will be  _ much  _ later. I have a full day ahead.” Taim strood and plucked the jacket he’d laid over his chair as he dressed. “I have decided to allow you to walk through the Black Tower on your own. You are to stick only to public areas. Do not exchange more than pleasantries with the Aes Sedai, and do not allow anyone to take liberties with your person. You will be here for supper. Understood?”

Elation buoyed her spirit at the prospect and Elea nodded. “Yes, Master. Thank you.” Had she been a different girl, she might have sprung up from her place and embraced him. 

He studied her with an eagle’s intensity. “Do not make me regret this, Eleanoren.” 

“I won’t. I promise.”

At her solemn vow, he turned and left her to her own devices.

Her walk, while uneventful, was everything she could have dreamt of and Elea felt like she was walking on water. The ground, though hard, seemed to buoy her, and the air was refreshing as a salt breeze. She nodded to men and women as she passed, Asha’man and their wives sometimes greeting her with, “M’lady.” 

It was an odd sensation, as Elea had been invisible as a damane except for the sul’dam. She had not been a person, but a tool, sometimes a pet. Varana had delighted in making her pretty for those strange shows where they’d parade the particularly lovely damana; the Seanchan were lovers of beauty after all, as demonstrated by the da’covale. 

Elea did not dawdle on her walk. She did not want to test her Master’s kindness, nor did she want to throw herself into deeper waters when she had only just started testing the tides. 

Mostly she watched. Carefully, through lowered lashes so no one would notice. The Asha’man seemed to come from all corners of the world. There were Taraboners with thick mustaches and golden locks, Arafellans with their braids, pale Cairhien and she even spied one of the Atha’an Miere. 

Her breath caught in her chest when she saw him through the others of his rank; perhaps they were leaving a lesson. His umber skin fairly glowed beside his Andoran companion, and she could just make out the net of tattoowork on his hands. Had she a better view, she would know his clan. But he darted from sight before she came out of her startlement, and Elea was left gaping after him.

She went back to the M’Hael’s quarters then, her chest aching and throat tight. As she entered the safety of his domain, she rubbed a hand over her heart, but could not dig deep enough to soothe the hurt. It was only when she noticed the pale birch posters of her new bed that Elea was distracted from her homesickness.

It was enormous. Not quite as large as the one in Taim’s bed chamber, but far larger than she needed, and it was flowing with silken bedding that frothed with lace, all of it in palest blues and mint greens that swirled in her mind like the shallows of home. And there were far too many pillows. Some were nearly as large as she was, while others were of a size to clutch. They all complemented the covers, this one with its golden tassels and that one with its white flowers. Gossamer drapes as delicate as spider webs twined the fosters and she slid a hand along the cool sheen of it.

“Do you like it?”

Elea spun, the hand on the bed squeezing her new blanket. She had not expected her Master back just yet and her cheeks heated at being caught unawares. “It’s very nice, Master. Thank you.”

He hummed, dark eyes thoughtful as he approached. “I’m glad. Though I hope this will not keep us parted too often. I’ve grown accustomed to your warmth beside me as I sleep.” Taim now stared down at her and she could smell the familiar scent of him more here than in his bedroom where it perfumed everything from his regular presence. His fingers trailed the bed covers until reaching her own, wrapping around them to bring to his chest. 

Elea did not know what to say in return, mind a racing current of feelings with no words to express them. His other hand cupped her jaw and her lips parted meekly.

“You do not mind, do you? Coming to my bed?” Could he feel her pulse? His chest was solid beneath her hand, warm where she pressed against the black material. Elea shook her head, unable to pull away from the riptide of his gaze. Taim leaned over her until his lips hovered a breath away. “Good girl.” And he closed the space between them.

She could not remember their first kiss when he tied her to him. She vaguely recalled her inability to drift into the Water Way as the moment had been unbelievable, acceptance impossible. And now with his lips pressed against her own, sucking her bottom lip between his teeth, she was at sea and could not find purchase for her feet. Too far from land, from home and its familiar waters. 

Instead there was  _ him _ , his body pushing her onto her back so she was afloat on the sea of her new bed, and the weight of him grazed her chest as he climbed beside her without breaking their breath apart. His tongue swept against her teeth and the sensitive flesh of her inner lip and she recalled what Moridin had told her.  _ Obedience. Devotion. Follow where he leads _ . 

Elea opened to him and slid her hands against his chest, timid fingers brushing the smoothness of his throat before she grazed the stippling on his cheek. At her trembling touch, he groaned and threaded fingers through her hair, fisting so sparks flooded her scalp and down her body. When her tongue flicked against his as it roved her mouth possessively, he ripped himself away, panting and heavy-eyed.

“Perfect little sparrow. You learned your lessons well for your Master, didn’t you?” His voice spurred the swimming in her depths and she idly wondered if her lips were as reddened as his own. “Do you like it, sweet bird?” His hooked nose trailed her cheek and she gasped. His lips brushed her ear with the words. When he chuckled lowly her fingers spasmed and gripped at the black silk of his hair. “You enjoyed his hands on you. His lips.” He wrapped his own hand around her wrist where it laid between their chests and instead pressed it beside her head, insinuating himself over her, one knee nudging her legs apart. “I could feel it. I can feel it now. You’re weak for me, starved for affection.”

Elea wanted to cry for the torrent raging through her. She wanted to run her skin along his, to drink in his soft lips and possessive touches, but it was terrifying and alien. Whatever this feeling was, she had locked it away long ago, shoved it beneath the prominence of the collar around her throat, cast it away with any notice of the the considering glances men would sometimes bestow on her.

But there was no collar here, only her pulsing bond with her Master. It felt like fire, hot and bright and scarlet red. He wanted her. She could feel it hovering between them and through them in the grip of his hand around the fragile bones of her wrist, the scrape of teeth against her ear and trailing down her throat, the hardness over her stomach.

She choked as he bit into the corded muscle of her throat, body clamping around nothing and nails sinking into her palms. The pain played a beautiful counterpart to the pleasure, and her body sang desperately for more. With her eyes tightly shut she could see him, flashes of his bare chest as he moved over her and into her and--

A wave of terror and shame and sorrow plunged over the heat and she jerked beneath him. Taim rolled back onto his side, though he had both of her wrists pinned in his grip now. “Eleanoren? Sweet?”

She trembled, legs climbing inward to ball herself as much as she was able.

“Elea. Look at me.”

Her eyes popped open and his face was still hovering over hers, but distant enough that he could peer into her, study her.”I told you I would not take you by force, didn’t I?” She nodded, warmth flooding her eyes and rimming them red. He wiped away the first tear as it escaped. “This is meant to be enjoyable for all involved. And kisses need not lead to more.”

She chewed her lip now swollen and sensitive. “Moridin said you would want to dominate, to feel powerful.”

Light danced in his dark eyes. “Indeed I do, but domination can be accepted, even welcomed, and a man would be mad not to feel powerful with you in his arms.” 

A hesitant smile alighted on her face and he returned it with one accompanied by soothing fondness from the bond. He sat on her bed and scooped her into his arms, lips grazing a kiss atop her hair. “Loathe as I am to admit it, Moridin gave you good instruction. However, I would prefer to teach you any others myself. He will have to appreciate them after their cultivation.” He was thoughtful, then shook his head and turned back to her. “You need sustenance, little bird. Come.”

Supper was a mild affair that evening, though he allowed her a cup of wine as rich as his own. When he dismissed her to change for the evening, Taim held her forearm a moment and studied her.

“Come back once you’re dressed for sleep. I meant what I said; I would have you beside me.” 

“Yes, Master.” Her heart fluttered all throughout readying, mind treading toward the memory of their near-tryst. Would he expect more tonight? Elea had no doubt now that her Master wanted her in that way, but she was uncertain what she wanted, had not sorted out the sensations of lust from her situation itself. There was also the bond to consider; did that influence her to return his carnal cravings? 

But when Elea entered his chamber for sleep, he did not push for more than the weight of her body curled against his. He drifted away before she released the breath kept deep in her lungs to maintain her floating tension and sleep found her soon thereafter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I actually have an inspiration for Moridin and Taim's dynamic that I need to find and tag.
> 
> I am so sorry for all the delays. I've had a troubling few months, but trying to climb out. Anyway, there are ways to follow me-- twitter, curious cat, tumblr, on my carrd in my profile. Feel free to gently stalk.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mazrim's attentions; news from the Sea.

He woke her with a brush of lips against her throat the next morning, and one on her lips the morning after that. It became a game to him to see how soft touches and kisses would rouse her, though he kept to a taut line while she was still under. In the moments Elea came to, at any hint of reciprocation he would delve further. He would thrust his tongue into her mouth as he wished to other things, or he would suck the delicate skin beneath her ear. He delighted in leaving little marks on her; bruises peppered her sides from his iron grip, red circles where he would suck her skin, teeth marks from eager bites. Any sight of such a display of his possession and he would fall upon her again when in private, pull her aside if able, or nearly purr in satisfaction when out.

She endured it best she was able, terrified though she was at the spiralling lust between them. Elea comforted herself with the knowledge that his contentment was connected to her allowance of walks. 

This came to her attention one evening when the M’Hael’s presence was preceded by a maelstrom of fury in his corner of her placid mind. 

Her heart was lapping at the shore of her ribs as he thundered in, lashing out with  _ saidin _ . His bookshelf splintered with a terrifying  _ crack! _ and pages flurried through the chamber. Elea made herself small in the wake of his rage, her arms wrapped around the indigo silk tent of her knees. Thrills of anxiety washed outward from her as she stared at the doorway.

His eyes were black thunder as he appeared in her view, his lips set in a tense scowl. One hand thrust to the side and the mattress and all the bedding tore into the air, feathers drifting in its wake. 

Elea’s breaths were small lest she disturb him with her presence. His nostrils flared as he stared at the hearth, stalked to his brandy, and poured himself a healthy dose.

“That boy thinks he rules here. That he can leave me to do his bidding like some errand boy and I will kiss his boots for the honor.” Liquor sloshed over his hand and hissed into the fire, though he did not take notice. “He dismissed me. Like an afterthought.” 

She crept forward, the line of her mind reeling for a way to calm the tumultuous current of his ire before it drowned her. Now kneeling beside him, Elea laid one trembling palm on his trousers just above the shining abyss of his boots. “My lord,” she whispered. He did not move, hard as a rocky shore, so she curled her other arm around his leg and laid her cheek against his thigh. “Master.” When deft fingers carded through her hair she hesitantly tilted her head up to gaze at him. There was a dark consideration in his eyes that foamed down her spine.

“My sweet little sparrow. I rule you completely, do I not?”

“Yes, Master.”

A warm current of pleasure whirled from him and his fingertips trailed to her jaw. “Who do you sing for, my sweet songbird?”

She swallowed thickly. “Only you, Master.”

The warm pads of his fingers slid across her lips. “Open.” Her cheeks grew hot as she obeyed and he eased two fingers into her mouth, exploring her teeth and stroking at her tongue. “Suck.” Mortification was a tidal wave, but she obeyed, and Taim hummed before tearing his fingers from her mouth and throwing her atop the ruin of his bed.

He was everywhere in that moment, and she could hardly tread above the warring lust and fury that was him. His mouth was on her, then trailing heated kisses over her throat, tugging at her gown to reveal the smooth line of her collarbone. His teeth tore at her and she arched, breath stolen at the sharp stab of his bite. And then he was shoving her gown up past the ends of her stockings, and realization drenched her.

She was sobbing, gripping the lifeline of the tattered bedding, cheek turned away and eyes screwed shut. 

“Eleanoren.” When nothing further happened, she batted her lashes apart and saw her Master had kneeled up off her, hands no longer on her body. “Oh, sweet girl. You have not even made the attempt to fight, have no dared deny me.” The back of his hand stroked her cheek. Instead of ravagement, he pulled her to his arms and smoothed her skirts back over her legs. “The al’Thor boy almost enraged me enough to forget myself. Shush, sweet.” Taim pressed a kiss to the top of her head. “Shush. I will not take my anger out on you in this way, innocent girl. I would not have that be your introduction to coupling.” 

Though he rocked her to sleep that evening, his mood was still foul when he awoke and indeed for days after. Thus she was kept inside. Taim also left her most evenings during this time, choosing to sate his fury with Moridin. When he came back in the quiet hours of the night, his rage was unrippling, satisfied. What he did in those hours she did not know, though he often sported small signs of physicality from little bruises on his through to scratches on his forearms.

It was an oddly temperate day when Elea was finally released from captivity. Her step was light, and she adorned herself thusly in a pale pink gown that brought out the rose of her excitement. And this time when she glimpsed the beautifully dark skin in a sea of washed out waters, she rushed forth and cried, “Wave brother?  _ Mah’din _ ?”

The man’s head snapped toward her and his wave of motion froze as he took in the small girl who then approached. 

Elea raked her eyes across his tattooed hands and they filled with tears, the wondrous salty water pouring over her cheeks. “You really are. I did not think to sea any of the Sea Folk so far inland, let alone here amongst the channelers of men.”

A line had appeared between the man’s black brows, his lips parted. After taking her in like the high tide he shook his head, and a small sound sallied from his mouth when he found Elea still there before him. “How are you here?” His voice threatened to break at each word and when she frowned at him, more spilled forth. “How did you survive? Oh, little sister. Little sister, we thought you all were gone.” He fell around her, racking their bodies with a choked sob before he pulled back, hands on her shoulders. “Are there others? Tell me there are others. We will-- I will contact a Wave Mistress and we can find passage home for you.”

Pale lashes swept across shallows-blue eyes. “How did I survive?” Around them the sea of daily life had paused and was turned inward upon their private bubble of reunion. “I have not been home for years.”

Sorrow crumbled the Sea Folk man’s expression. “Then you do not know.” When she jerked her head to negate understanding, he said, “Wave sister, I am so sorry. They-- the other Amayar. They are all gone.”

The world spun at her feet and only the warm umber hands held her aloft. “Gone?”

“The Time of Illusion ended and they all chose to wake from this reality.” His deep voice dipped with the rumble of anguish. Elea’s brother’s sweet face flashed through her mind, just as she’d left him years ago. Julus with his bright smile and their father’s eyes. Julus who had cried when his sister was torn away. Julus had awoken as well? He would never, not without her.

“How? Why?” It was the softest wail. “I do not understand.” She swayed, breath wheezing in her chest. Her vision was darkening, and sparking at the edges.

“What in bloody Creation is happening here?” From somewhere way off shore she could feel a quake of jealous rage. Her ears started ringing as voices wove above her head. They ebbed and then flowed down to her, softer, gentler. “Eleanoren?” She was turned and now stared into familiar black cloth. When her head was tipped up through the sloggy air, she met the black eyes of her Master. “Are you well?”

She blinked. She blinked again. His words slowly swam into meaning. “Oh.” Elea swayed again and laid a hand against his chest. Just before the darkness consumed her she somehow said, “No, I do not think I am.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm gonna be working on catching up to comments soon, I swear! I just figured I'd write while I could.


	8. Eight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A teacup is sorrow beyond measure; also sex.

The world was dark and warm and soft around her. She’d floated in and out of it, consciousness lapping at the edges of her mind, but kept at bay by heavy lids and tired limbs. It was only when a need arose that she stirred at all.

Arms held her against the solid firmness of a body. At her movement, the grip tightened and Taim hummed his displeasure.

“I--” her voice was rough, throat parched as one adrift. “I need the facilities.” The grip loosened with a pulse of reluctance, and she stumbled her way out.

When she returned, Elea found her way barred by a servant in the doorway. Her Master was murmuring instructions to him and the man nodded shortly, bowed, and about faced. She hardly heard his polite excuses as he darted around her; Taim held out a hand and she placed her own in it. She thought to return to bed, but he tugged her toward his usual seat and into his lap.

“You need to eat, little bird.” His voice was gentle as bath water and his hands soothed over her arm and back. 

She felt-- she felt curiously very little, but swept away from the thought as soon as she’d had it. Only the realization that she seemed more alone in her head than she had since she was home struck before she’d cut herself off. That way was the maelstrom. After a long silence she said, “I am not hungry.”

Disappointment breezed through her hair. “Regardless, you will eat.”

The fire whipped and crackled and she watched the shadows thrown on the wall. “I am tired.”

Fingers threaded through her knotted hair, slowing untying the oily locks. “You may rest after.” She did not respond, and the room was quiet but for the fire until the door creaked and a servant set a tray of sustenance on the table. A small plate appeared, resting in the M’Hael’s palm as his arm curled around her. He plucked the end of a loaf from it and held it before her. “Once you’ve eaten, you may return to bed,” he prompted. Elea nodded and took it in hand. It was still warm, but tasted of ashes on her tongue.

She ate slowly, tearing the smallest mouthfuls of whatever her Master gave her. She did not pay attention, focused only on the perfunctory motions of hand to food to mouth and repeat. That was enough to occupy her, though the meal seemed to stretch and fill an endless void of time.

She wondered if this would be life now, truly a pet and little else, and then Taim pressed a teacup to her lips.

Elea swept it away with an arc of her forearm, hot water sloshing and splashing over them and the crippling shatter of porcelain against the hard floor. Her breath heaved in her chest and a flurry of panic overwhelmed her, fingers flying to cover her face as she wailed.

Teacups, beautifully patterned, lovingly painted. She saw them cracking behind her eyelids and shook with denial.

“Eleanoren.” When she did not respond, the M’Hael tossed her on the bed where she thrashed, drowning in too-swift heartbeats. She sobbed dryly and kicked against him, but he was weighing her down, his legs over hers and one hand locking her wrists over her head. She couldn’t breathe, gasping between dry sobs, trembling with grief. Taim’s voice was muffled under a thunderous ringing in her ears. It was not until he used the power of the bond that it broke through.

“ _ Listen _ .” Wide, red-rimmed eyes snapped to his own black. “Stop fighting.” Those words were said without laced command, but she grew limp against the bed. “There you are. Breathe, little finch. You are safe.” Long breaths passed until her heart began to slow its pulse again. “Good. Now, come and drink some tea with me.”

Terror struck through once more and Elea twisted in his grip. “No, please.” Her lips trembled.

“Hush, love.” He pressed her firmly into the bed, his weight more grounding than she realized, and she slowly tread through her haze. “Is the porcelain so painful to see?” A crease appeared between his brows as he stroked her red cheek.

She did not want to articulate it, did not think she could. Her thoughts churned as she darted away from them. There had to be a way to escape the tightening in her chest, the stone in her throat. Her eyes swam over her Master’s face, between the twin abysses of his eyes, the curl of a lock of hair, the curvature of his nose, and she gained footing at his lips. Her heartbeat stuttered and she surged against him, her own lips desperately moving against his. He was still for another beat, then took over the kiss, molding his body against hers as a hot tide spilled from his mouth and into her. When he thrust his tongue into her mouth, she laved it with her own; and when he released her wrists to lace their fingers as he lay above her, her newly freed hand threaded through his hair to pull him closer. Her hips mirrored the motions of his own, and when they wrenched apart for air, she begged, “Please.”

Pain flashed like lightning across the bond and tightened his eyes. “You are grieving, sweet bird. Now is not the time.”

She shook her head and pressed her hips against his, desperate for the overwhelming wave of lust that overrode her sorrow. “I need this. Please, Master, help me.”

The Dark man hissed at the feel of her body beneath his, the fire she tried to stoke in herself fueling the ever-burning embers of his hunger for her. The bond fed into itself and the burn was nearly overwhelming between them. When his lips met hers again, Elea knew she’d won.

She was sick with want, her body opening slowly to Taim’s fingers as they roved over her, plunged into her. 

“Too tight,” he murmured into her ear. “Relax, dove.” Elea’s body was taut, shivering, and she took in deep breaths to send his intentions to her muscles so his fingers could more easily make room. “There we are, perfect.” He explored her with sure hands and mouth, uncovering her completely and then pressing her own small hands to his chest. 

_ “Mazrim enjoys hands upon him… He will feel powerful with these little hands clutching at him.” _

Tentatively she ran her hands over his chest, then her fingers slipped the buttons free to expose his chest. Elea slid the cloth over his shoulders and he shrugged it off completely, leaving his torso free for her discovery. His skin there was paler than that of his hands and face, but still darker than her own and with an olive tone to it. There were scars, but she’d expected them; Taim had seen his share of battle and unfortunate circumstances. The scars formed fascinating patches where the skin was slightly different to her fingers. But overall he was lean with muscle he kept up with training. 

He groaned when Elea skimmed her nails lightly down his abdomen, hands flying to grip her thighs to stay afloat. His eyes were swimming in the darkness like reflected moonlight. Taim dove down to cleave to her body, lips along her jaw as he pulled her thighs over his own. He worked up to lay his forehead to her own and it was like that he eased into her, his hands melding into hers, pressing her into the bed, surrounding her inside and outside the bond until she was drowning in the heat of him. 

The burn was sweeter than breath and she drank it in, gasping for more, hands greedily mapping him out. The dark fire of him swallowed her whole so that Elea could feel him clearly through their bond, feel him inside of her, his pleasure at her writhing beneath him, his pride at her own pleasure. 

And she could feel him lapping up her presence, a long drink of pure, light water he was burning into steam to breathe in. 

She ceased feeling herself alone, her body and mere sensations; instead Elea was  _ them,  _ a primal being diving through their bond with him running after her. 

Through the haze she felt flashes of hands on her breasts, on her throat, heard words of praise whispered hotly against her skin. She was blazing with the novelty of it all, following willingly where he led. When it culminated in blinding white snapping throughout her body, Elea fell nearly faint onto the bed. It had lasted an eternity, encompassing both her climax and his, and she twitched and tingled after.

Taim curled around her, tracing shore lines on her stomach. “You seem particularly… Susceptible… To the bond during coupling. We shall have to work on that.” 

“Yes, Master,” she murmured, still floating in the aftermath. 

His lips hovered over hers as he corrected, “Mazrim.” At Elea’s frown, he repeated himself. “When we are together like this, beloved, I want you to call me Mazrim.”

“Mazrim.” He lowered his lips to her to taste his name on them, apparently enjoying the way her mouth formed the sounds, as he deepened the kiss, fingers skimming along her body. 

He rolled over her like a wave and brought her to crest again and again before finally worn enough to sleep.

“What is it about the porcelain?” 

Elea stilled, hands darting to her lap. It had been some days since the evening she first woke to her grief. She had learned a few more details, such as confirmation that all of her people were indeed gone. The Lady’s light had finally shone, and the Elders had decided all would wake at once. It had been during the cleansing of  _ saidin.  _ Her people had died because a woman had used a  _ ter’angreal. _

And now their bodies were rotting, being picked to bone while the sheep wandered aimlessly. She’d declined tea ever since, her stomach whirlpooling at the mention. 

Mazrim had been patient with her. She was allowed to lie in bed at any hours, simple fare and water brought to await her eating pleasure. He’d curl with her in bed as he was able, never pushing for anything she might be unwilling to give.

Did she not owe him some explanation for this deep revulsion?

Elea netted her thoughts, gathering them and delicately flaying them until they were the meat of what he needed to know, and what perhaps she could bear to say. 

Her palms skimmed the edge of the table before plucking his saucer from its surface. She traced the rim, turned it over, studied each line. It was starkly white. “Your teacup does not match your saucer.” He frowned and looked at the delicate piece holding his tea. “It is from the same maker, but your saucer is truly white, you see, while your cup is milk white.  _ Bone white. _ ” 

Mazrim settled the porcelain on the table and looked over the saucer. She handed it over, knowing exactly what he would see. The woad blue geometric designs were of the same school, but he flicked between the two pieces and nodded solemnly at her to continue.

“That is sheep bone; Amayar bone,  _ family _ bone is precious and rarely makes it off the island. It is far more intricate as it tells something of a story. You can read the meaning of the person to the creator. And human bone has a certain quality…” She shook her head. “I cannot describe it, but I know it inside.” 

“Your people make cups out of your deceased?” She could feel the dampened distaste behind his words, but did not take it to heart. Taking anything to heart at the moment was difficult.

“It is not quite seen as such.” Elea licked salt-dry lips. “On islands, land is limited. It is a waste to use it for burial, as human beings naturally wish to visit their dead. We settled on cremation. You see, when a body is burned, the larger bones survive. The porcelain made from the bones of our sheep was fine, beautiful, often made for the most sought after among our creation. I do not know who made the leap, but when we are burned away from the dream, the remaining bone is set upon a hotter fire, blue as the sky on a clear day, and any remainder is pounded to a fine ash. That ash is mixed with the other components of porcelain and fired at a lower heat.”

Elea took his cup in hand and swallowed the last of his tea, her smile a riptide across her face as she turned it in her hands. She lowered it to her lap and it tumbled to the floor.

Taim started, but frowned when it only rang and spun until it rested with its handle against the floor. “The cup I broke the other day was not bone porcelain.” Elea swooped it from the floor and set it back on the table. “Despite being thinner, slightly transparent, bone porcelain is stronger than its counterpart. Bone is what gives us strength, after all. And it is with bone that my people take strength from our loved ones.” She swallowed down the tears that blurred her vision. “And now my people’s bones lie on the ground, picked clean by birds and insects. And I, their lone daughter still sleeping in the dream, cannot carry them to the fire or shape them into the beautiful pieces that would speak their wisdom for generations.” 

Warmth pressed over her hand and she followed it to Mazrim’s gaze. “So you mourn that your people are not properly at rest. As a Borderlander might if his brother could not receive the last embrace of the Mother.”

She nodded. “Every piece of Amayar porcelain is a whisper in my ear. It may seem barbaric to you, drinking from a cup that was a beloved aunt, but for us it is taking in her Dream with her every sip and someday passing that on to your children, and their children, and all the way until the Dream ends and they may wake with you. And that unbroken line has ended with me.”

“Oh, little bird.” He rounded the table and pulled her to his chest. “If it ends with you, then it shall never end. I promise you that you will not die before I do, and I endeavor to live forever under the Dark One’s rule.”

Though his words were intended to comfort, they sent icy shards through her numb surface and stirred a growing tempest within. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just finished a long fanfic (Azael's Chains, HP fandom) and I'm doing at least an update of everything before I begin its sequel. I'm also beginning two original pieces (one erotica and one not).
> 
> You can find updates about what's going on, ask me questions, etc, via my carrd, link in profile.

**Author's Note:**

> I've never written WOT fanfiction before, but been a fan for decades. This is gonna be a dark fic; that is (almost) all I write, just a forewarning.


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